


To Stand the Test of Time

by potentialfordisaster



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Flashbacks, Future Reconciliation, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Post-Divorce, Psychological Trauma, Reconciliation, References to children's movies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 80,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentialfordisaster/pseuds/potentialfordisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom and Chris are a divorced couple with a five year old child. Except things start to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loki-on-mjolnir (basalganglia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/basalganglia/gifts).



> Hi! :D This fic is something I've been working on for some time. I don't know why I have such an appetite for sad things, but it is what it is. I won't be able to update frequently because I have another wip but some chapters of this fic are already complete, so I can at least guarantee that the first chapters will be updated faster. 
> 
> I was looking for inspirational photos for Tom and Chris' son but five year olds are the most adorable things ever and I couldn't decide myself, they're all so cute. So I imagine him as being the fusion of [these two](http://potentialfordisaster.tumblr.com/post/116335304536).
> 
> I'd like to gift this to loki-on-mjolnir who writes very nice fics, even more so when the prompt is given by me ;) I hope she likes this :D -I was kidding, she writes spetacularly regardless-

The wind was brisk and cold, cutting sharp against Tom's face. Still, he hugged himself tighter, drawing the heat to his core. His car was parked right behind him, the parking lot slowly filling around him, busy mothers or fathers climbing out to wait just like he was. The vast majority knew each other, shouting greetings from over the cars' roofs, standing, laughing and talking quietly. Tom, however, was not very well acquainted with them, their faces familiar but their encounters short and awkward enough to not allow any intimacy. He was here to pick up his son only on Fridays. And god, how he missed him.

Tom's house was full of his pictures, just one look at Henry's adorable little face enough to have him smiling for the rest of the day. Still, he was kept too busy with his job to try and pick Henry up at school every day. Even though he had a reasonable amount of days off he had to be up early at the theatre, sometimes staying until up late, doing rehearsals and focusing on that or that line, or that part, that movement. It was way a too crazy schedule to try and conjugate with the responsibility of taking care of a child. Chris had a more established and solid job, and since their divorce it was settled that Tom kept Henry on Friday nights and weekends and Chris had him for the rest of the week. It was unfair for both parts, Chris more often than not asking to keep him for the weekend for a family visit, Tom not being too keen to part with the only three blessed days he was allowed with his son. It was a topic that always led to discussion, Henry sitting quietly by the corner while listening to their hushed hisses on the telephone, mouth down-turned and eyes sad. 

The bell rang and like every week, Tom's eyes snapped to the school's door. Not ten seconds later, the wave of young laughter filled his ears, the teachers opening the doors to let out the stream of little ones. He quickly looked for Henry's familiar head of brown hair. 

Tom remembered, when he and Chris were still together, most of the people they met, other parents or teachers or the occasional neighbours, upon seeing Henry asked if he was Chris'. Anyone could see the resemblances but they always ended up having to explain that no, Henry was adopted, they didn't have any contact with his biological parents. 

And there he was, running down the steps, backpack flapping against his back in his hurry, little head trying to see past the other children and tall parents, looking for Tom. 

“Henry!” Tom shouted, walking fast to meet him.

Henry spotted him and ran madly. When he started doing that, running and jumping on a too fast pace, Tom had begun to grow worried, but the pediatrician said it was a phase, that every kid his age did that. Still, Tom didn't like it. 

He enveloped Henry in his arms, picking him up, his short arms wrapping around his neck as Tom laid kisses at the top of his head. “Oh, my love. I missed you so much.” Tom whispered, feeling the beats of his son's little heart against his chest. 

Henry laughed and inclined his head to lay a small and moist peck on Tom's cheek. “Papa.” He said in lieu of a greeting. Tom smiled and turned to fix him at the backseat of his car, fasting colorful seatbelts with practised ease. Tom was grateful to see that Chris had dressed him well, bundling him up in a sweater and his favourite cotton jacket, a knit cap folded inside one of his backpack's pockets. 

“So, what do you think we should do today?” Tom asked happily, both hands on the steering wheel as he drove the familiar path toward his house. He glanced back at Henry through the rearview mirror, his face scrunched up in thought.

“We could watch a movie!” Henry supplied, hugging his backpack to his chest. 

Tom laughed. “Okay, a movie it is.”

“But not a sad movie, you always cry, papa.” 

Tom sighed and smiled. “You're right, darling.” Henry was way too observational. 

~*~

While Henry watched the television, Tom went to get him some clean clothes. Chris always stored some of his clothes inside his backpack on Fridays, and also other things like his new favourite blanket, which he insisted he couldn't sleep without for the rest of his life only to tire of it in a two weeks time; his new furry dog, which he couldn't watch television without or Flock – the dog's name – would turn sad and leave. Only because on the first time, Henry grew attached to a floppy pair of socks and Chris had forgotten to pack it. It led to one of the most terribles Friday nights since their divorce. 

At the time, Henry was four and Tom had been chopping down some vegetables in the kitchen when he had started crying because of the socks. Startled, Tom had cut his finger, blood staining his palm as he scurried back to the living room. Upon seeing the blood, Henry's crying grew louder, Tom growing stressed out and nervous, not knowing the cause for his upset. He ended up having to call Chris, what undoubtedly led to one of their many fights via telephone, Tom even cursing in front of Henry, an action he had always been careful to avoid. His ex-husband had to come back from wherever he was to bring the damned socks, Henry a quiet bundle that glued itself to Chris' legs and whispered the most painful words Tom had ever heard: “I wanna go back with dad.”

Tom shook his head and went back to Henry on the living room, watching a show on which characters with large heads interacted by batting their arms and driving candy cars. 

He took a deep breath before speaking as cheerfully as he could manage, “Henry, bath time!” 

Henry instantly pinched his brows, pouting. “No!”

~*~

Ten minutes of stubbornness later, Henry laughed and splashed the bath's water all around, his square little teeth smiling up at Tom. And it was on those moments that Tom forgot all about the complicated times, the hardships, even internally thanking Chris, for one way or another, giving them their son.

Henry scratched his eyes when the shampoo slid over them, stinging. But not even that was enough to diminish his happiness, clinging to Chuck, the Duck, making Tom wonder not for the first time what drugs he had been on when buying the squishy toy and thinking it a wonderful idea.

“Ok, love, let's go.” Tom said again, getting Henry's blue towel, a smiling green frog that Tom's mother sewed above the name 'Henry' on it. Chris found the frog absurdly cute but Tom had always found its lopsided smile a little unnerving.

“But, papa,” He moaned, squishing the toy again. “Chuck will be sad.”

“Chuck won't be sad, my love, Chuck is a duck that only cares about himself.”

Henry laughed, looking back at Tom as if he had said the funniest thing ever. “No, he don't.”

“Doesn't.” Tom corrected, not resisting and kissing his wet cheek. “Come on, you can pick the movie.”

“No, papa.” Henry whispered, hugging Chuck closer to his cheek and closing his eyes. “I never wanna leave.” 

Tom sighed and leaned forward, hugging his little wet body. “You don't, love of mine?”

~*~

He did leave, and Tom dried him with the frog towel before dressing him on his fire truck pajamas, taking him back to his bedroom and sitting his son on the mattress, bringing out his yellow plastic comb to align his hair, the sweet baby smell of his shampoo and soap invading Tom's nostrils. They went back to the living room where Tom let Henry go through his Disney movies collection while he made them dinner. There was an old vegetable soup on the fridge but Tom wasn't about to feed his son with that, prefering to boil some potatos and carrots, serving them along rice and some roasted chicken that he prepared yesterday, adding a sprinkle of parsley and thin pieces of broccoli, wondering if Henry would notice it.

He arranged both their plates over the coffee table, going back to the kitchen to fetch Henry's matching Mickey spoon. When he returned, Henry was still sat at the sofa, but eyeing a white covered case. He raised his head and asked, “Papa, what movie is this?”

“Oh, darling.” Tom said, sitting down beside him and taking the case. “That's a recording of me and your father when we went to get you at the foster home.” Both he and Chris had stated earlier on that they'd never hide from Henry that he was adopted, the boy absorbing its simplicity better when young so no one could disturb his image and upset him later on in life. 

Henry was silent for a second and then asked, “Can we watch this one?”

Tom smiled slowly, “Of course.” He wasn't about to mention that he had had a marathon of his and Chris' videos with Henry last Wednesday, crying by himself on that same sofa. “But food first.”

Henry made a face like he was considering it but smiled, “Okay.”

His smile faded when he saw his plate. “What is this?” He asked, poking the head of the broccoli with the end of his spoon, Mickey smiling between his fingers.

“That's a broccoli.” Tom said, chewing on his own broccoli to set the example. Henry shifted his eyes between him and the broccoli, bottom lip twisting as he hummed in thought, surreptiously leaving the broccoli aside and scooping up some chicken with potatoes. 

Well, Tom had tried. Perhaps he'd do better next time.

~*~

“We could have ice cream with Oreos and syrup.” Henry whispered in his ear when Tom set the video and went to lie next to him on the sofa.

“Does your father let you eat that?” Tom asked, frowning.

Henry giggled, perhaps knowing he had gotten his father in trouble. “It's delicious.” He mumbled, but went quiet when the television showed Tom standing outside the foster home, jitterish and excited. Tom remembered that day as if it was only yesterday, the drive to the foster home was awful, Chris having to stop at the side of the road for Tom to exit the car hastily, throwing up next to a bush. 

In the video, recorded by Chris as he kept narrating everything they did, Tom's back entered the orphanage, a middle-aged woman coming to attend them and smiling, already recognizing the couple from their many visits to see Henry. Tom remembered her too, Nora. The director of the orphanage had sent him an email not two days ago, informing that she had passed away. Breast cancer. Tom couldn't attend the funeral, but he shared the email with Chris, adding that he found it important for him to take Henry. She had been extremely kind to them and already Tom could feel the tears forming. 

Nora led them into a narrow corridor, the walls painted a light green. At the end of it, a white door was shut, and Tom now shared the same sentiment of that when she was about to open the door, clutching Henry tighter to him on the sofa. Nora opened the door and Chris, holding the camera, entered after Tom. Henry's crib was at one side of the room, the other side occupied by another baby. Tom wondered if that baby had been chosen by someone as he and Chris had Henry, if their lives would've been different if they had gone with the baby on the left side instead of the one on the right side, if that baby's life would've been different, better.

But as they approached Henry's crib, Tom swallowed forcefully. He was all enveloped in a cotton blue blanket, Tom remembered the feel of it on his fingers, his face barely out of the cocoon. 'Like a burrito', he remembered Chris joking. And there it was, Chris' voice repeating these same words on the video, Tom and Nora laughing. Tom bent reverently to scoop Henry up in his arms, Chris focusing the camera on his face, his mouth opening as he gasped, looking down adoringly at the baby that squirmed and cooed before settling comfortably against his chest. Nora and Chris cheered and video-Tom beamed. 'Like a gift, baby.' Chris corrected himself on the video. 'He's like a gift'.

Chris leaned over the camera for them to share a kiss, and Tom's heart constricted painfully inside his chest, the pain so great he had to grit his teeth so as not to moan and startle Henry, who watched it all with huge eyes.

“I was that little, papa?” Henry asked curiously.

There wasn't much on the video after that, just Nora saying her goodbyes and wishing them well, kissing Henry's little forehead for the last time. The video ended with a white panel.

“Yes, love. You were that tiny.” Tom answered, sniffling.

Henry looked over his shoulder at him, blinking slowly and whispering. “No, papa, you cried.”

~*~

To Tom's surprise and Henry's delight, Sunday was sunny. Tom only dressed him in a white shirt and khaki pants, Henry watching TV as Tom wrapped the pie he had made in a plastic foil to take to his mother. 

“Henry, come on, time to go to grandma's.” Tom called, setting everything inside the car before going back inside to turn off the TV and put some shoes on him.

“No, papa, my Sonic shoes.” Henry said, taking them out of his backpack, the blue hedgedhog winking at the bottom.

“Oh, dear, these are lovely.” Tom complimented half-heartedly, checking the time on the living room's clock. They were late for lunch. 

“Yes, dad gave me them.” Henry stated proudly, cheeks rounding when he smiled, looking down at the little shoes. 

“That's wonderful, darling.” Tom said, feeling that strange jealousy that always assaulted him whenever Henry would whisper praises about his father. Tom was about to put on some socks on his feet before the shoes when Henry stopped him. 

“I don't use socks, papa.” 

Tom frowned, watching his little face. “Why not, darling?”

But Henry said nothing, just pouted and shook his head, busying himself with arranging his clothes inside his backpack. Tom sighed, worried, but put the shoes on with no socks anyway, wondering if Chris had accostumed him into not wearing socks with his shoes anymore. It was a stupid thing, but Tom was ridiculously overprotective. Chris used to complain about it, “Let the boy live, Tom”, and even though Tom knew Chris had his share of reason he just couldn't help himself.

“Let's go.” Tom picked him up, arms straining. “God, you're heavy, Henry.”

Henry hugged his neck. “Is aunt Emma going to be there too?”, he asked.

“Yes, she is, and aunt Sarah too, grandma, grandpa and your cousins.” Tom answered, settling him on his seat comfortably and fasting his seatbelts.

“I can do it, papa.” Henry said, taking the belts and fasting them himself, his little face scrunched up with determination.

“Sorry, darling.” Tom smiled, kissed his forehead and went to the driver's seat.

~*~

His mother loved the pie, but what she truly couldn't let go of was Henry, the boy resting against her chest when she put him on his lap, patting his head as they shared secret whispers. Tom, sitting by the window in the big living room, felt his heart warming at the image. Emma sat beside him, eating a slice of his pie and humming in appreciation. Sarah's kids, older than Henry by a few years, rested against the sofa, playing on their DS. His father sat beside his mother, sometimes reaching out to stroke Henry's shoulders, but most of the time talking quietly with Sarah's husband, sat beside him. Sarah, however, sat near her kids, watching Shrek with half-lidded eyes, and Tom pretended not to see when she slept and woke two minutes later, blinking rapidly and casting wary eyes around the room. The environment was calmly comforting, relaxing, friendly, everything he'd wish for a Sunday afternoon, and he rested back against his seat.

The wall beside him was decorated with a bunch of family portraits, him as a kid, next to a younger Emma with pigtails and a red dress. Sarah's wedding, her kids' birthday party, his mother next to her garden and Tom with closed eyes kissing Henry's face when he was four months old, the light filtering through the windows, casting his curls golden, Henry's old room when they lived in Chris' house painted white. He didn't know his mother had that photograph, he had been wondering where it was for years. He thought Chris had it, remembering how he said it was his favourite picture ever.

But Tom's eyes rested on the frame below, his and Chris' faces close together as they slept, arms reaching to rest atop Henry's belly, sleeping just between them. That picture was taken just one month before their divorce. It was adorable and Tom couldn't take his eyes off of it.

“Sorry, I told mom to take that one out.” Emma said beside him, taking him out of his stupor as he turned to her. His sister was licking her fork, not looking like she had even said anything. “That was really good, when did you learn to cook like that?”

Tom chuckled. “There's a really good cooking program that I watch when I leave the theatre early.”

Emma hummed, resting her fork on top of the plate and giving him her full attention. “And how is the play going?”

“Opening night is next Friday.” Tom said, his eyes going back to Henry out of his own volition. It was likely he'd go more than two weeks without seeing Henry. He had to talk to Chris so they could arrange something, perhaps Tom could keep him on week days. 

“Wow,” Emma said, chuckling. “You look the picture of excitement.”

Tom laughed and shook his head. “No, it's- it's complicated.” 

Emma's smile faded a little, “Yeah, I know.” There was a pause as they both switched their eyes back to Henry on their mother's lap, talking excitedly, raising his leg to show her his new shoes, his grandmother nodding and complimenting his good taste.

“She misses him.” Emma said, like she was talking about the weather. Tom nodded, watching as Henry interacted with his mother, her laughter filling the room. “Not only him, I mean.” Tom looked inquisitevely up at her, Emma cocking her head in the direction of the photograph Tom had been looking at before. “She misses him too, the one that cannot be named.” She whispered, eyes widening in mock fear.

Tom chuckled, wondering when Emma would grow up. “You mean Chris?” He asked.

Emma gasped, but leaned back against her chair and nodded. “That's why she keeps the photo.” She said, speaking louder: “Even though I told her a million times to get that out of the wall, right, mom?”

Their mother looked back at them from over her shoulder and gave Emma the tongue. They were so much alike, with their perpetual good mood and playfulness. Emma just smiled, turning back to Tom and shrugging. “She adores him. But she won't say it because she doesn't want to hurt you.” Emma, perhaps for noticing that Tom was growing a little uncomfortable, changed topics. “How is little Henry doing?”

Tom beamed, looking back at Henry, who had descended from their mother's lap and sat near Sarah to watch Shrek. “He's brilliant. He can be a little too much sometimes, but I try not to lose my patience. Chris says all the teachers compliment him, say that he's the best in his class.” Emma nodded, eyeing her nephew and running her fingers absentmindedly through her long hair. Some minutes passed by, Henry laughing at something funny on the movie. “But-” Tom paused, Emma looking back at him with expectant eyes. “But sometimes I worry.” He wriggled his hands on his lap, and looked down. “He's become different.”

“I felt it too.” Emma said. “It's not a bad thing, though, it just feels like he's more timid.”

Tom nodded. “It's because of the divorce.” He said, and ran his hands over his face. “When I talk to Chris he becomes sad, as if remembering we're separated. And he has some-” Tom paused, sighing.

“Some what?” Emma asked, listening helpfully, not judging, her face expressionless. That's why Tom had always opened himself to her better. 

“I don't know, some quirks. He doesn't use socks anymore, you know that?”

Emma frowned, watching Henry, eyes sliding down to his shoes. She looked back at Tom slowly. “You think it's because of that day?” Tom remained silent for a moment, but eventually nodded. “Oh, Tom.” She sighed, one of her hands clasping his over his lap. “He's very sensitive, you know that, but you should talk to him. You and Chris should. He's associated the fighting with his socks and he'd do anything not to see you fight anymore, so he's stopped using them.”

“I know, but I don't know what to do, Emma.” He sighed. In the background, 'Hallellujah' started playing, Fionna dressed in her wedding gown, face sad.

“Talk to Chris. For real. Let Henry see you doing something other than fighting.”

~*~

When they got home, late at night, that old melancholy settled in. Chris would come to pick Henry up anytime now, and Tom hugged him on the sofa, the boy eventually squirming and murmuring shyly, “Papa, I need to tinkle.”

Tom sniffled but let him go. “Of course, darling. I'm sorry.”

Henry went to the bathroom, Tom watching the back of his head. His cell phone started ringing and he cursed, not needing to check the caller id to know that it was Chris.

“Yes.” He answered, lying back down on the sofa.

“Hey.” Chris said, voice as deep as ever. “You and Henry home?”

“Yes.” Tom repeated, picking on a loose thread at the collar of his shirt. 

“Good. Listen, Tom, can you keep him until tomorrow morning?”

“What?” Tom blinked, sitting up.

“Yeah, I'll have to be at work pretty early in the morning and I won't be able to leave him at school. Could you take him? I know you're probably busy-”

“No, it's fine, I'll do it.” Actually, it wasn't fine. The opening's week was always more tiresome than usual but arriving two or three hours later wouldn't be much of a problem. The staff knew he had a kid too.

“Oh, great, thanks.” Chris sighed, sounding unearthly tired. “I'll try to pick him up but if anything gets in the way I can ask Liam. I don't think he'll be doing much tomorrow.”

Tom chuckled, mood lighter. “He still hasn't got a job?”

Chris snorted in that way that Tom used to think so funny when they had started dating. “Liam, a job? Are we talking about the same person?”

Tom laughed quietly, and in that moment Henry showed up from the bathroom, big eyes watching his father on the phone curiously. Tom drew the cell phone away for an instant to ask, “Henry, it's your father, you want to talk to him?”

Henry's eyes widened and he beamed, nodding quickly and running to Tom, who handed him the cell phone and watched as he answered with a happy, “Hi, dad.”

Tom sat back, patting his lap, to which Henry climbed on to, whispering an “I miss you too,” and resting against Tom's chest. Some seconds passed by with Henry saying nothing and then a sad “But you're not coming?”. He sounded so lost, so sad, that Tom had to look away. He straightened Henry's shirt and kissed the top of his head as he continued talking to his father, and then he whispered an “I love you too, daddy,” and handed Tom the phone, hiding his head on his neck.

“Hi.” Tom greeted again.

“Is he too sad?” Chris asked. Tom tried to take Henry's face out of his neck to no avail, and sighed.

“Yes, he's a little bit.”

Chris tsked. “Crap.”

“Henry, darling.” Tom called but the boy didn't answer. “Baby, you'll see your father again tomorrow. Don't be sad, okay?” Henry hummed against his neck. Tom went back to the phone. “Chris, you there?”

“Yeah.” Chris answered.

“I'll take him to bed now, okay? What time do I have to drop him at school?”

“Class starts at 8.”

“Alright. Uhm, bye, I think.”

“Yes, goodbye.” And just before hanging up: “Tom, tell him I love him, please.”

“Sure.” Tom mumbled, and hung up.

Henry wasn't crying, but he was pouting. He didn't, however, complain when Tom took him directly to the bathroom, filling the bath with warm water and washing him quietly. He squished Chuck, the Duck only once, but when Tom was drying him Henry leaned over to press his cheek against his face. Tom kissed his cheek repeatedly and dressed him on his fire truck pajamas, taking them back to his bedroom, where he opened the blinds and set his alarm for 7 o'clock tomorrow. 

Henry hugged him immediately, and before he could sleep, Tom said “Darling, me and your father love you. Okay?” Henry nodded, eyes drooping, and Tom stroked his shoulders softly. “We love you more than life itself, little Henry.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not thaaat bad...

Henry woke up sneezing. Tom checked his temperature but he seemed to be okay. When he asked him if he was feeling anything else Henry shook his head no. Worried, Tom made him some toast with strawberry jam, along with a glass of orange juice which Henry drank slowly. 

Weather was cloudy again and Tom did not spare on precautions, wrapping Henry in a sweater along with an undershirt, folding gloves and his knit cap inside his backpack. He thought about maybe not sending him to school, but it'd end up being useless as Tom couldn't miss today's rehearsals and couldn't take Henry with him to the theatre. At school he'd have more people to watch over him. 

When he parked and they exited the car, Henry launched himself to his neck, kissing his cheek. “Bye, papa.”

“Bye, darling.” Tom hid his face on his son's collar, breathing in his childlike smell, feeling the warmth that radiated off his little body. He wanted to hug him forever, but let him go hesitantly, watching as he made his way to the school's entrance, where a little boy his age waited, waving him over. Tom's smile crinkled the corner of his eyes and he waved one last time before Henry crossed the arch and entered the school, his little friend beside him.

~*~

As predicted, work was hell. One part of the scenario still wasn't finished because the company they had hired to deliver the materials necessary to design it still hadn't sent them, one of Tom's costars was stricken with a cold, not being able to say when he'd recover to finish rehearsing his scenes, the director was in a terrible mood and there had been a problem with the theatre's electricity, which had only been fixed after lunch time, rendering their morning rehearsals impracticable. 

The good mood Tom had been in had slowly diminished, leaving behind a tight coil of nerves that expanded from heart to chest. 

He was rehearsing one of his most important scenes under the director's frigid gaze when one of the staff members appeared, looking uncertainly between him and the director. When the scene was over, the girl quietly said “Tom, I think your cell phone is ringing.”

“Oh.” Tom mumbled, eyes going to the director inquisitevely. They had a strict no-cell phone policy, but as Henry was a little unwell today, Tom had left his on in case he felt like calling the school to ask after him. The director was visibly unhappy, but shrugged and waved him away, Tom scurrying to the dressing room to answer the call. 

~*~

When Tom took Henry with him to the theatre for the first time the baby had been six months old. Neither his nor Chris' mother could watch him that day, but seeing as they were still on the earlier programming stage for their next play, Tom had taken Henry with him. He clung to Tom's collar and looked around with huge eyes, little neck turning from side to side to try and take everything in. His female costars and the staff girls had an uncommonly unproductive day, cooing over Henry constantly, telling Tom how cute he was, asking to hold him and play with him. 

Henry had laughed all day long, only fussing and crying when he was hungry and Tom had to stop and feed him, script forgotten in his lap as he watched Henry's suctions on the milk bottle, his little hands fanning over Tom's holding the bottle, eyes on him, breathing quickly to suck more milk in, belly expanding. 

Tom had marveled at such a tiny creature, wondering what in the world he had done right to receive such a blessing. 

~*~

The caller was Chris, and Tom frowned before answering. “Tom? I'm sorry, were you busy?”

Tom sighed. “Yes.”

“Shit, sorry.” Chris apologized, sounding anxious when he continued. “It's just that Liam can pick Henry up at school but he can't keep him for the night and-”

“Keep him for the night? What are you talking about? Weren't you going to pick him up?” Tom asked, confused, the day's tension growing on him.

It was Chris' turn to sigh. “Yes, I was supposed to but I am-”

“Let me guess, extremely busy and can't take care of your only son?” Tom added, sardonically.

“Hey, what's the matter with you?” Chris said, on that impassioned and wary tone that was always the starter for so many of their fights. “I'm only calling to ask if you can watch Henry for the night. I'll stop by to pick him up later at yours. I'm just overloaded here.”

Tom blanched, remembering Henry's sad face last night when Chris had said he wouldn't take him to school, how he shyly and hopefully asked Tom if his father was going to pick him up today at breakfast. “Chris, do you have any idea how sad he was when you didn't show up last night?”

“That's not the point, T-”

“That's not the point? Then what is the point? Your job?” Tom asked, louder than necessary but he didn't mind as long as Chris understood. “Your son misses you and you keep postponing-”

“I'm not postponing, I'll take him today, damn it!” Chris vociferated. Tom took a good breath and paced around the room. “I'm only asking you to watch him until I come back, he's a little sick but Liam will pick him-”

“Wait, wait, what?” Tom halted, heart throbbing inside his chest. “Henry's sick? How do you know that?”

“The school called me a few minutes ago, they just wanted to know what medicine to give him. He's fine, Tom.” Chris explained.

“Fine? I- I don't get it, what is he feeling?” Tom asked, bumbling.

Chris' sigh was a rustle of statics on the phone. “He's sneezing, coughing and has a sore throat, it's a mild cold.”

A cold? Well, he had been sneezing in the morning. “But- How didn't I know that? Why did the school call you first?” Chris hadn't spent the weekend with Henry, hadn't slep right next to him last night, but their son was sick and the only one allowed to know was Chris. Tom was also his father!

“Because I'm his emergency number!” Chris replied. 

“Well, what about me?” Tom shouted, all the tension and nervousness of the day springing up on him.

“They lost all of their files eight months ago, Tom! They didn't put in your number because they couldn't find you, you'd know it if you kept in touch with the school.” Chris retorted loudly, his words bitter, cracking a dry root inside Tom. “For god's sake, can you watch him tonight or no?”

Tom could feel tears of rage forming on his eyes, and a lump that formed on his throat, making it difficult for him to swallow past. “Yes, I fucking can! I can watch my sick son despite of my job, you could fucking try it sometime!” Tom screamed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Chris inquired, his voice cutting and deep, sending a shiver of fear down Tom's spine, a terrible, terrible feeling. “You know I try to but I can't!”

“Well, fuck you!” Tom yelled, hanging up furiously and throwing his cell phone at the sofa far by the corner, where it bounced once before settling at its edge, almost falling. Tom hiccupped, body bending forward as he supported himself, gripping his knees. His anger, disappointment, delusion and sadness feeling like a sour drink that upseted his stomach, irritating and burning.

He heard the door's hinges as though an out of body experience, turning his head slowly from his position to see Elsa, one of his costars, opening the door slowly, eyes wide and shocked falling on him. “Tom, we heard-” She whispered and trailed off, shifting her gaze to his cell phone, immobile over the sofa's edge. “We were worried. I-Is everything okay?” She finished, voice low. Past her silhouette on the doorway, Tom could see the looming forms of his coworkers, staff members and producers, even the director, standing outside, all startled and rigid, eyes wide on him. 

Tom gulped and rose, feeling like he wanted to sob but too embarrassed to do so in front of them. “Yeah -uhm, I'm sorry.” His voice was hoarse, but he swallowed again and sniffled, smiling quickly. “I have a young son and-” He stopped, hanging his head, not saying anything else. Not like he felt he needed to.

~*~

They let him go after his little episode. The air was just too tense and Tom felt mortified looks thrown his way, feeling terribly awkward and exposed, sweat sprouting on his forehead and pooling at the end of his back. The director, expression commiserate instead of stormy, clapped his shoulder once everybody went back to what they were doing before, and whispered an “I think you're good for the day, Tom. Let me know if you- Just, be all right.”

Tom smiled curtly and nodded, eyes downcast. He changed clothes quickly, feeling worried eyes following his path as he exited by the back doors. The outside was windy, a whiff striking him straight on. Tom wrapped himself tighter on his coat and entered his car, its warm ambience like a sanctuary next to the nervous buzzing that rang on his ears. He leaned his head on the steering wheel and took three deep breaths.

Chris said Liam could pick Henry up but that was the least of his worries now. All he wanted was to see his son. 

~*~

Tom stood by the school gate until a short woman with frizzy blond hair showed up. 

“Uhm- Hello? May I help you?” She asked, uncertain eyes scanning him. Tom couldn't blame her, though, the woman was on her way somewhere inside the school, holding up a cup of steaming coffee, and spotted Tom outside the gate, freezing on her tracks and coming up to investigate.

“Yes, my son studies here, Henry.” Upon hearing his name, the woman's eyebrows raised in recognition and she stepped forward, but still blinked at him like not quite understanding. “I came to pick him up.”

“I see.” She nodded, though it was clear she wasn't very well seeing anything, lips coiled, eyes flitting over him and stance defensive. “Well, I thought Mr. Hemsworth would be coming because he's always here to get Henry.” She said, watching Tom's face warily, somehow flaunting Chris' presence on Henry's life. She cocked her head. “Do you know him?”

Tom sighed. “Ehm, yes. He's-” He swallowed, unaccustomed to voicing it. “He's my ex-husband and Henry is our son. He couldn't come, so-”

“Oh.” The woman paled, mouth agape. “Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I mean, I knew you had-” She waved her hand, trying to find the words. “Divorced, but- I didn't remember your face.” She laughed quickly, embarrassed. “Gosh, sorry.”

“It's okay.” Tom said, out of politeness rather than other, more truthful feeling. 

“Uhm, I think Henry is still in class but I could get him.” She assured. “He's a little unwell today, right?” She searched her coat pockets single-handedly before retrieving a set of keys to open the gate, the pieces of metal jingling in her hands. 

“Right.”

“I'm Lindsay, nice to meet you.” She said, extending her hand, the one not holding the coffee.

“Tom.” He replied, shaking her hand and following her inside the main hall, a wide and colorful space. 

“I'm relatively new here.” He could already see that Lindsay was something of a talker. “I've always wanted to work with children, but no opportunity ever showed up until Mrs. Harrison retired. I had something of a bad start, Edith was re-editing all the files when I accidently turned the computer off.” Lindsay laughed and shook her head, the episode amusing her. 

So she was the one that had deleted all of Tom's informations on Henry's file. Tom was not impressed, and confused, just followed her with his eyes as she went around, depositing her coffee cup on a desk by the corner, going past him to open the blinds, mouth moving as she kept rambling. “Edith made me ask every parent their informations all over again, can you believe that?” She didn't seem to be waiting for an answer as she went on immediately. “And the first to arrive here that day was Mr. Hemsworth, what a lovely man! He laughed so much when I told him the story, I was surprised, I thought anyone else would have bitten my head off.” Tom huffed. That was so Chris-like.

Lindsay stretched to pull the curtain's upper part and Tom went to help her. “We spent so much time talking that little Henry showed up, and what a cutie! Ah, thank you! These curtains are the death of me.” Tom stepped back, eyeing the Backyardigans' clock that hung on the wall. “And Chris hugged him so hard, he's such an incredible father!” Tom's breath hitched, not so much for the unintentional jab but mostly for noticing Lindsay's addressing of Chris. “When Marie – Henry's teacher – came over to say that Henry wasn't feeling well I immediately called Chris.” She said, like an excited kid. “He always helps everyone out, whenever a child here begins to feel sick we always call him and he's so attentive to us, and what a luck too! Henry's father, a doctor!”

Tom opened his mouth. “Yes, uhm, Lindsay, I really need to take him home and-”

“Oh, of course!” She gasped. “Sorry again. I got lost!” She giggled, turning on her feet. “I'll have Edith get him.” Lindsay called over her shoulder, entering a door.

“Sure.” Tom sighed, wondering who the hell was Edith.

As it appeared, Edith was an old lady with a brown woolen sweater and a long floral skirt, who showed up not two minutes later holding Henry's hand. His son walked slowly beside her, eyes downcast, pouting. Tom's heart clenched.

“Oh, darling.” Tom crouched down in front of him, Henry coming up slowly to brace his neck, sniffling. Tom hugged him back, kissing the top of his head. “What are you feeling?” He asked, and Henry stepped back to point at his throat. “Does it hurt too bad?” Henry nodded and Tom clicked his tongue, picking him up on his arms and accepting his red backpack, handed to him by Edith. 

Henry waved back at her above Tom's shoulder as they exited the school, Lindsay guarding the gate, smiling and calling. “Goodbye, Henry. Get well soon.”

Tom thanked her and adjusted Henry at his seat on the backseat of his car. On the way home, his son coughed to no end, frowning at the pain on his throat, looking outside the window, little hands folded over his lap. Tom wanted Henry's pain to be transmitted to himself so bad that he was sure no other pain could compare to that.

Upon arriving home, he took his shoes off and laid him on the couch, bringing out blankets and pillows to cushion his body. He was at a loss as to what to feed him, and called his mother, writing down her homemade receipts that promised to extinguish any sickness. 

“My poor grandson.” She lamented. “But don't worry, darling, I'm sure it's just a common cold. Did you call Chris?” She asked hopefully. 

“Yes, he-” Tom groaned, remembering their fight. “Whatever.”

His mother was silent for a second before asking meekly. “Did you two fight again?”

“Yes.” Tom sighed, glancing back at Henry on the couch, who was sniffling quietly. “Anyway, I got to go, mom. I'll call you later.” He went to prepare Henry's food, turning the television on so he could have something to distract himself. He wished he could stay with him, like when he was a baby and Tom used to put him on his highchair and move him to the kitchen, to sing him his favourite lullaby while cooking. Instead, he now cooked without singing, hurriedly, asking Henry from time to time if he was okay, his son's short response flitting through the walls. 

He was setting Henry's plate when his phone rang. He let it ring and went back to Henry at the living room, sitting down beside him to feed him. Tom knew he wasn't propense to eating in his state, but Henry made no complaints, opening his mouth and swallowing slowly. 

“I can't taste it, papa.” He said, in between spoonfuls. 

“It's okay, darling.” Tom assured, eyeing the broccoli that he had slipped into the soup. He felt a little evil, but his phone rang for the fourth time and he cursed internally, giving Henry his last spoon before standing up to get it. 

He was so distracted that he didn't even check the caller id, surprised upon hearing the hurried “Tom? Do you have Henry with you?”

“Liam?” Tom paled, remembering Liam and how Chris said that his brother was going to get Henry for him. “Oh, shit, Liam!” He pinched his brows, Henry's eyes lifting from the television. “I'm so sorry, darling.” He apologized, wincing. “Sorry, Liam, I was going to call you but I completely forgot about it. God, I-”

“Jesus, man.” Came Liam's whisper at the other side of the line.

“I'm sorry. I should've told you but I was so worried about him.”

“It's alright. I was gonna drop him off at yours anyway.” He mumbled. “Just wanted to see the kid, is all.”

“Sorry.” Tom answered, not knowing what else to say. 

“It's fine, I was a bit worried when he didn't show up but a crazy blond woman told him his father came to get him and I called Chris and when he said he didn't have him, well, you know.”

“You called Chris?” Tom asked, exasperated. 

“Yeah.” Liam replied, and Tom could imagine him shrugging when saying it. The call went on with none of them saying anything else, just Liam's loud breathing filling the line. It was that awkward silence again, the one that Tom would always get upon seeing or speaking to one of Chris' relatives now, his simple and happy family, that Tom had always viewed as magical beings, mesmerized with their carefree lifestyle, their noisy kisses and their abundance of affection, reduced to fidgety figures when talking to him, silent and uncomfortable, though they tried their best not to show it. Tom was oddly sad about it because he knew they were all wonderful people, but he understood that in those situations it was expected that they would take Chris' side, though he knew that Tom's own family only pretended to take his, their missing of Chris palpable on the silence after their sentences, on their casual question of, 'how is Chris doing, have you heard of him', or even worse, when they would ask Henry as if afraid Tom would freak out if they mentioned him, 'is your dad working, Henry', 'is he okay' and 'tell him I sent a kiss', 'ask him to call me', this last one always finishing with them sending Tom a quick look, as if afraid they were caught with their hands on the cookie jar. 

“Well, is he feeling any better?” Liam finally asked, uncertain.

“Yes, I think so. He had dinner now and is watching TV.”

Liam hummed. Silence again and then, “Can I talk to him, please? Haven't seen him in three months.” 

Tom froze, feeling a hollow thud inside his ribcage. Three months? That was too much time! And Liam was the most present of Chris' family members. Tom asked himself, though he already knew the answer, feeling impossibly guilty, if this was what Chris meant when he would hesitantly ask to take Henry to visit his family on a weekend day. 

“Oh, sure.” Tom hurried to say.

“Thanks, man.” Liam responded in his monotone voice, but still sounding surprisingly grateful, as if he had been expecting Tom- to refuse him. Jesus. They must think he's a monster.

Tom handed Henry the cell phone hastily, as if it burned him, and as Henry exclaimed happily “Uncle Liam!”, Tom sat beside him, rejoicing on his easy happiness, the way he jumped as if already healed, eyes glinting. And just like that, Tom listened to his son's laughter, only cut off by his short coughing. 

They talked for six minutes, Tom watching the kid's show boredly until Henry handed him the phone back. “Liam?”

“Hey, man. Nice talking to him.” He answered with a serene voice. “I gotta go now, though. Send him my best and have a good night.”

“Okay, you too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

And hung up. Tom sighed, realizing how funny life was, that his and Liam's friendship, the pivot for his and Chris' relationship, would rot along with it. 

The kid's show finished, Tom and Henry quickly going through the channels until reaching Wall-E, halfway into it when Henry lifted his head, looking at Tom before asking, “Papa, why didn't dad pick me?”

Tom hummed, surprised that Henry managed to hold the question that he knew he would ask for such a long time. “Your father is busy at work, darling.”

“Is he healing other people?” Henry asked, eyes curious.

Tom chuckled, “Yes, he is.”, and hugged Henry, running his fingers through his hair when touching his forehead, pausing, brows furrowing. “Darling?” He asked, raising to feel Henry's skin, his increased heat. “Henry, you're burning!” 

Henry said nothing, only blinked tiredly. Tom panicked, heart racing. Jesus, what was he going to do? His eyes flew around the living room as if the answer was lying somewhere in it. He nervously went back to his bedroom, retrieving more blankets for Henry, which his son received thankfully. Tom paced, feeling his temperature again and clicking his tongue. He finally went to the bathroom to get their baby thermometer, putting it on Henry's armpit and sitting down next to him until the little device beeped: 101,3°. 

Tom stared at it, mortified. 

“Is everything okay, papa?” Henry asked, eyeing him innocently.

“Uhm-” Tom's eyes went back to him and he gulped before saying on his best voice. “Sure, darling. Just- Wait a minute here, okay?”

Henry nodded, turning his head back to Wall-E while Tom retrieved his cell phone hurriedly, going back to his bedroom. He dialed the numbers, swallowing back his pride as he listened to the beeping. It rang seven times, Chris only picking up before the eighth. 

“Yeah.” Was what he said, gruffly. 

“Chris, oh my god.” Tom sniffled. 

“What, what is it? Where is Henry?” Chris asked quickly, scared.

“He's here but Chris,” Tom sat on his bed, hugging his own belly before continuing, “He has a fever and I don't know what to do.”

“Jesus, Tom, just, calm down, alright?” Chris breathed out. “Did you check his temperature?”

“Yes, it's 101,3°.” Tom replied, trying to ease his fast beating heart. Everything would be fine, Chris would know what to do. “Chris, I-”

“Okay, hey, calm down. Listen to me, right? Just listen to me, Tom.” Chris asked, and he must've somehow felt that Tom nodded because he went on. “First, it's nothing alarming, you can bring down his temperature. Are you paying attention?”

“Yes.”

“Right,” Chris began, his doctor voice coming up. “Put some fresh clothes on him, do not wrap him up.” A pause, and then. “You did that, didn't you? Wrapped him in a thousand coats?” Chris chuckled but Tom couldn't detect anything funny, and remained silent until his ex decided to continue. “Anyway, try to make him drink more water, juices, any liquid will do. If you can convice him, a cold bath would be good too. If nothing changes after that or if his temperature rises, give him some Tylenol or Advil, but make sure to check the dosage. Half a pill should suffice, he's still small.”

“Alright.” Tom mumbled, mentally writing his instructions down. “Chris, uh, thanks.”

Chris said nothing for two seconds and then, “No problem. I'll be there somewhere around 11 to get him, okay?”

Well, Tom had forgotten that Chris would stop by. “Okay. Thanks, bye.”

He hung up, not waiting for Chris' response. He hadn't meant to be rude but his heart had begun beating fast again and ugh- he had to help Henry.

Henry whined when Tom made him part with the blankets but eventually gave in, crossing his legs on the sofa and pouting when Tom brought one of his cotton pants and a striped shirt. 

“Henry, come on, let's change.” Tom asked, sitting down next to him. He managed to grab the hem of his sweater before Henry wrapped himself in a little ball and shook his head. “Darling, please.”

“No.” Henry insisted, brows scrunched, cheeks flushed. 

“Henry, you need to change, darling. It's for your own good.” Tom tried again, holding his arms in an attempt to make him disentagle himself.

“I don't want to!” Henry continued. Twice more Tom tried and twice more Henry denied, shaking his head stubbornly. Tom was beginning to lose his patience, but drew in a good breath to steady himself. 

“Alright. Then we're taking a bath.” He decided, taking the clothes back to the bathroom and filling the tub with cold water. He added some warm water for good measure too, afraid it would be too cold for Henry, but maintained the temperature low enough not to spoil the bath's purpose. When he went back to the living room, his son was watching the movie attentively, eyes glued on the TV, where a broken Wall-E did everything he could to save his little plant. 

“Henry, let's go, bath time.” Tom called, and Henry only shook his head, still entertained. “Henry, I won't call you again.” He moved closer to feel his son's forehead, still hot, if not hotter than before. Tom was beginning to grow anxious, and tired of trying to talk Henry out of it, took the remote control from the coffee table to turn the television off.

“No!” Henry screamed, reaching out for the control.

“Yes, let's go. Now.”

“I want to watch it, papa!” Henry insisted, brows scrunching tighter, his voice coming out whiny and Tom knew what would happen.

“We can watch it again later.” He said, moving to take Henry to the bathroom. But his son crossed his arms and legs stubbornly and dodged his hands. “Henry.” He warned, and then Henry did it, he started crying.

“I want to watch it now!” He managed to say while crying, face scrunched up.

“Oh, Henry, please.” Tom sighed, picking him up in a quick movement, Henry's crying increasing, loud beside his ear. 

“Noooooo.” Henry whined, trying to kick his legs but being prevented by Tom, who held them closer to his chest. “I don't want to!”

“But you will, you're sick and I need to help you.” When he put him on the floor, Henry tried to escape between his legs, but Tom held him in place, sighing in exasperation as he took his clothes off while avoiding his winding arms, Henry doing anything he could to stop him while still crying. When Tom was finished, he grabbed his naked form to put him inside the tub. Henry's toes touched the water's edge and he shrieked.

“No! No!” Henry screamed, trying to escape Tom's grasp to no avail. 

“Henry, quiet.” Tom asked, but his son continued fighting. It hurt him to do that, but there was no other way. He tried to put him inside the bath slowly so as not to cause much discomfort but it was useless, and when he finally managed to sit him inside the water Henry was sobbing.

“I don't want to, papa.” He said on a lower voice, more prone to pleading than making a scandal now. Tom bit his lip and tried to work quickly, lathering his moist skin, Henry flinching every time the water came into contact with him. Tom washed his back and Henry leaned forward on his arms, still crying, making Tom's heart break. “I don't like cold water.”

“Me neither, darling, but you have a fever and I need to heal you.” 

Henry sobbed once more before whispering “You can't heal me, you're not dad.” 

Tom paused, the soap hitting the end of the tub with a thud. Henry continued crying lowly on his shoulder and he closed his eyes once, tired. “Don't say that, dear.” He murmured, reaching for the soap again and findind it next to Henry's foot, going back to washing him quietly. 

“Why are you doing this?” Henry asked.

“Because I called your father and he told me to do so.” Tom answered, emotionless. 

“You called dad?” Henry sniffled.

“Yes.”

They were silent for the duration of time it took for Tom to finish washing his chest and back, reaching for his little legs under the water. Henry sniffled again and then said that particularly cruel joke. “I want dad!”

Tom had enough. “But your dad is not here!” He said loudly, Henry watching him with wide and moist eyes. “Your dad is working, Henry. But I am here to take care of you, just as I'll always be, and I'll do it even if it kills me.” 

The water sloshed with his fingers' movements and Tom finished quickly, lips thin. Henry had stopped crying, still looking at him in astonishment. Tom got him out of the tub and dried him, both quiet. He dressed him on the shirt and pants he had wanted to before and Henry said nothing, only lifting his limbs to help him. When he was done, Henry whispered “I'm sorry, papa.” 

Tom sighed, crouched down in front of him. He kissed his son's forehead, glad to feel it on a more normal temperature. “It's okay, darling. Sorry for yelling at you. Papa had a difficult day.”

“I love you.” Henry said, and Tom smiled. 

“I love you too, darling.”

~*~

Back in the living room Tom checked his temperature again, glad to see that it had gone down a little. Still, he gave Henry a spoonful of honey, to clear his throat and to give him more liquids, Henry always so thristy after a sweet. Tom gave him two cups of warm water before he started complaining and saying he couldn't drink anything else anymore. They settled quietly on the sofa, just catching the last minute of Wall-E before the credits appeared. Tom checked the time, impressed to see that it was already 10 pm. He was thinking about taking a nap with Henry before Chris arrived when his son had a coughing fit. 

Tom carried him around the house on his lap, figuring that if he swayed just like he did when he'd put Henry to sleep when he was a baby, his coughing would subside for some time before starting again. His temperature increased again, and tiredly, Tom went through his drug cabinet with Henry still on his hip, finding a Tylenol and breaking the pill in half. Surprisingly, Henry made no fuss to swallow it, gulping down another cup of water that Tom held to him. 

After that, he seemed to get better, his eyes drooping on Tom's shoulder, fisting his collar. Tom ran his fingers through his head of brown hairs, and watched as his son peacefully went to sleep, his breathing warm and even on his neck. Tom reclined against the sofa, his own eyes closing against his will when the doorbell rang. 

Exhausted, Tom rose with Henry to open it. Chris stood outside, beautiful, of course, a white button-up under a long, black coat. Beneath the light of Tom's outside lamps, his eyes looked bluer than he remembered, and Tom pondered if his absence on his life had really contributed to increasing his ex's looks. 

“Good night.” Chris greeted, eyes landing on Henry's sleeping form, draped over Tom's chest.

Tom cleared his throat quietly, “Hey.” He was thinking about something else to say without stuttering, their fight earlier completely forgotten now that they had to take care of their son; then Chris gave a step forward to ask how Henry was doing.

Tom turned a little so Chris could see Henry's face, sleeping on his shoulder. “He's better, I think. I gave him half a Tylenol like you said and his fever has gone down for now.” He adjusted Henry on his arms, which had started to ache. Chris leaned to caress Henry's head, his hot breath fanning Tom's neck. 

Tom gulped, but watched his son's face too, how his brows furrowed slightly before he squirmed, blinking slowly at them. Tom smiled down at him, and so did Chris, his lips still curving on the same half-moon shape as ever, the smile Tom was so infatuated with when they dated.

“Hey, boy.” Chris said, stroking Henry's cheek. Tom kissed his son's head and Henry blinked as if not quite comprehending how his parents were close to each other again, smiling at him together. 

“Dad.” He mumbled and Tom thought he would wake up and jump into Chris' lap, but he just smiled and closed his eyes again, going back to sleep on Tom's shoulder. They both watched him for a while longer before Chris cleared his throat, looking back to his car, parked in front on Tom's house.

Tom got the drift, and hesitantly, eyes down, handed Henry to Chris, who held the boy by his armpits and carried him like Tom had been doing before. 

“Uhm, I'll go get his bag.” Tom said, pointing back to his house's interior. Henry's backpack was behind the sofa, and Tom retrieved it before going back to the door, Chris already a few steps outside. 

And the only reason why Tom saw her was precisely because Chris wasn't framing the door anymore, because there, inside his car, on the passenger seat there was a woman, with long, black and wavy hair, looking ahead and appearing to be chewing on a gum while waiting for Chris to go back. Tom could feel himself faltering, eyes fixated on her. Chris was adjusting Henry's clothes, and didn't seem to notice that Tom had stopped at first, but he casually looked back to wait for him and frowned. He followed Tom's eyes back to the car and sighed. There was a weird silence, Tom's heart clenching, feeling more like a wrinkled and shrunken piece of muscle; he just couldn't stop looking. Suddenly, he squared his jaw, feeling more revolted than hurt, even though he knew he had no reason to feel neither. 

“Who is that?” He asked, face pale, flicking his eyes back to Chris.

Chris rolled his eyes. “That's Dana, a friend of mine from the hospital.”

“A friend?” Tom couldn't help asking, his voice filled with a vile tone to it.

Chris frowned heavily, “Yes, Tom, a friend. There was a horrible accident down the road, we all had to stay until late and I offered her a ride.” Chris finished, whispering so as not wake Henry. Tom licked his lips, feeling a little embarrassed. Chris must've confused his embarrassment for disbelief, because he asked “You want to go there and ask her?”

Tom gasped, offended. “Of course not.”

Chris recoiled, clearing his throat. Why was it always like that between them now? To think that someday they had loved each other so hard. Nowadays they couldn't even have a proper conversation without fighting. It saddened Tom. He thought they would do better. Instead, he handed Chris the backpack, watching as he walked to his car slowly, Henry's hair wavering under the night breeze. With a heavy heart, Tom retributed Chris' faint wave before settling their son on his chair in the backseat, his friend turning to help him. And just like that, Chris sat on the driver's seat and drove off, his tail lights lighting Tom's house before departing. With a sigh, he turned on his heels and closed the door after him.

~*~

When Henry was three he hurt his knee on the backyard of Chris' house. It had been a Saturday, Tom preparing lunch in the kitchen, Elton John playing on the radio. Chris and Henry had been playing outside when suddenly, Henry's angry cry echoed inside the house, Tom instantly freezing and looking at the back door, where Chris burst through not two seconds later, carrying Henry on his hip, his knee scraped, little dots of red blood dotting it. 

“Oh, baby.” Tom had said, running to get the antiseptics on Chris' request. When he returned, Chris had Henry sat on the living room table, whispering to him, Henry nodding, not crying anymore. He handed Chris the first aid kit, his at-the-time husband kneeling to clean the wounds with practised ease. When he was about to dab the most stingy of the medicines, Henry had flinched, and Chris, playful and careful and lovely as he was, had said:

“If you feel it'll hurt, hold papa's hand, baby.” And Henry did, squeezing Tom's hand and shutting his eyes as Chris applied the clear liquid. He whined once, but Tom held his hand and kissed his forehead and that had been all, Henry opening his eyes slowly and looking down at his knee, cleaned, only the little scabs beginning to form. He smiled up at Tom, still missing a tooth at the upper part of his mouth.

“See?” Chris asked, and Henry nodded happily. Chris turned passionate eyes to Tom but when he spoke, he had been still addressing Henry. “Didn't I tell you he was magical?”


	3. Chapter 3

Tom would like to say that their history was complicated. But it was not. It was simple, and lovely on its own way.

Tom had been eighteen, and just generally spent his days going to school and hanging around his theatre friends. It wasn't much, but at the time Tom had been a simple teenager with too much free time, which he spent reading books, prefering the ancient and rational thinking of the Greek masters and the rhythmic complexity of Shakespeare, reciting his works by heart with frenzied reverence under the shower spray, a young Emma outside the door shouting for him to shut up and get out of there already.

It wasn't until his last semester that he befriended Liam. He burst through the auditorium doors on the first day of drama class, fifteen minutes late. Tom and the rest of his friends were surprised to see him there, but apparently he had been on a deep discovery phase and decided his destiny was to become an actor. He sat beside Tom and kept poking his shoulder to ask the most banal of questions. He spoke slowly, as if constructing the sentence as he went, and at first Tom had thought that he was one of the boys that used to smoke weed under the bleachers, only to learn that no, it was just in his personality. Liam used to stare off into space serenely, more interested on the weather than on his grades, talking to whoever sat beside him until the person changed seats, weirded out.

Tom thought he was odd, but he was also a very likeable person, having tons of friends that smiled and greeted him in the hallways. He didn't have the same popularity that used to require good looks and outstanding performances in a sport, he was just Liam, the good guy, and everyone loved him. He grew on Tom quickly, and some weeks later they were already what might be considered friends, not _best_ friends, but friends nonetheless.

Liam's older brother was someone everyone knew without ever seeing. There were some photos of him on the school's trophy room, biting a medal after winning a swimming competition and another where he and the theatre crew bowed before an audience at the school's auditorium. Tom had only seen them once, when he had been waiting for the cafeteria to open after coming out of a class earlier. Chris Hemsworth was much like Liam, though he seemed to attract a much more pronounced and easy adoration than his younger brother. He was some sort of legend among the townspeople, and Tom couldn't very well remember when was it that he had first heard his name. It was common knowledge that he was a nice soul and attended Medical School since leaving highschool. He was also spectacularly handsome and Tom used to listen with avid interest whenever Liam talked about him.

Liam had invited him to one of his parties one day, but he used to do that a lot and Tom had always declined, not particularly keen on dancing and getting drunk at his friend's house. But it was the last party of the semester and Tom couldn't avoid it without deeply upsetting Liam or feeling somehow excluded from his teenager years. Tom had twisted his mouth in front of the mirror and put on a light blue shirt and some faded dark jeans. He figured his hair couldn't be fixed and shrugged.

“Where are you going?” Sarah had asked upon meeting him on the stairs on his way out. She had been home from college and seemed to sniff around everything in the house, as if trying to remember what it was like to live there.

“A party.” Tom replied, going for the door.

“Don't forget to take condoms.” Sarah had warned, grinning.

“Sarah!” Tom admonished, blushing, and hastened his departure when his mother, sat on her chair, slid her maganize down her face to smile teasingly.

Liam's house was not far from his so it didn't take long for Tom to get there. It was a cute house with two floors and wide windows, painted a light shade of yellow, but he couldn't have missed it not even if he wanted to because several cars were parked next to it and music could be heard from inside. Tom had never been to one of Liam's parties before but he could tell they were quite the attraction. The doorway was filled with people, and Tom took some time shouldering himself inside. He was beginning to feel slightly dismayed, not really believing he had thought this would be a good idea. Liam, however, wore the widest smile, and hugged him tightly before saying a “Thanks for coming, man.”

The party hadn't been that bad, the problem was that Tom couldn't seem to fit in. He just stood in a corner with a cup of something alcoholic a guy had handed to him, which he had tried taking a sip of and made a face at the burn. His friends were more interested on drinking until passing out and Liam was busy talking to a group of people. He had looked down at his cup, swaying it gently to see the ice cubes following the liquid's movement, and felt the distinct sensation of having someone's eyes on him. Tom had looked up. And there he had been. Chris. Leaned against a wall across the room, a redhaired girl talking and gesticulating in front of him, but Chris' eyes were bored on Tom.

Tom hadn't recognized him immediately, because he was not the same boy from the school photos anymore, he had more muscle on him, a light beard on his face and his hair was shorter, darker. Tom had felt himself blushing, and quickly lowered his eyes. He took another sip of his drink just in case Chris had still been watching, not wanting to look as awkward and lonely. It must've shown on his face that he hadn't liked the drink because when he risked a glance Chris had a nice smile on. He was smiling for him. And Tom had lowered his eyes again, their staring too intense, his stomach flopping, his cheeks warming, feeling strangely light-headed. It made him nervous that Chris seemed to be so engrossed in him, and twice more Tom looked up to find his eyes on him, and ducked his head to hide his smile.

It was insanely liberating and sweet. Tom felt like he could float if he wanted to.

Gulping, he had looked up quickly, but Chris had been absorbed in a conversation with a short-haired girl that showed up and ran her hands up his biceps. Tom remembered how his heart fell, how his smile faltered. Of course, how could someone as loved and beautiful as Chris notice someone like him? He had stayed for some time, but when it was evident that Chris wouldn't look at him again, he had deposited his full glass on a nearby table and walked to the door. He had been trying to pass through the swarm of people when a hand closed around his wrist. Surprised, Tom had looked back only to see Chris, a few inches taller than him, his cologne divine, his eyes so blue.

He had been holding Tom's cup on his other hand, shrugging sheepishly and saying. “I think this is yours.”

“Oh.” Tom had mumbled. “Yeah.”

Chris nodded as if he had been extremely articulate, and after handing Tom his cup -their fingers touching-, they had stood in front of each other, Chris watching him and Tom looking down, cheeks ablaze. Tom looked up and smiled, and the next second found them laughing for no reason.

“I'm sorry.” Chris muttered when they were done, his eyes so insistently fixated on Tom that it made him want to shrink into a tiny insect.

“What for?” Tom had asked, looking over his shoulder when somene bumped into him.

“Because I've been looking at you the whole night.” Chris said, sincere.

Tom had choked on a breath, watching him with utter disbelief. “Uhm-” He had tried to be playful and flirty and say that twenty minutes were not the whole night, but flushed and gave up, scratching the outside of his elbow.

Chris chuckled, a nice sound, deep like his voice. “I know I'm being forward.” He had said. “But you're adorable.”

And he was. Chris had never seen someone as lovely as him, with his cute blond curls, his thin and pouty lips, his blue eyes flitting from one place to another warily. Chris couldn't have stopped staring, and he hoped Tom could understand that he hadn't been leering like those malicious guys, but that he had looked at him and doing anything other than that had felt wrong. Chris had watched him like a work of art -a masterpiece-, with nothing on his mind other than how beautiful it was.

At his praise, Tom bit his lip and smiled, whispering a tiny “Thank you.” and turning bright eyes under thin eyelashes to him.

“Do you wanna go outside?” Chris asked when the second person bumped into them, only then realizing that they were crowded against several other bodies. Tom had nodded quietly, and Chris, unsure but brave, extended his hand, Tom eyeing it shyly before accepting his grasp, his hand warm, fingers long and fine-boned. Chris squeezed and rejoiced on Tom's giggle, pulling him toward the veranda at the back of the house.

The veranda and backyard had been empty save for some groups scattered around, talking quietly. Tom remembered that they slid side by side on the wall. The night wasn't warm like summer nights usually were, and for a moment they both stared at the sky, still holding their drinks, though Tom was really thinking about downing his for liquid courage. Then Chris started speaking, pointing some constellations he knew, mentioning a book he read once and then it was easy. Tom hadn't felt like he was talking to a twenty-one year old medicine student, he felt like he was talking to someone he knew for a long time, and from the look on Chris' face, so had he. Chris mentioned old civilizations, their easy comprehension of the sky and Tom gave his input. They spoke about the Greeks and the founding of theatre, and Tom's eyes sparkled. Chris said he had attended the drama classes on highschool and Tom had remembered the photograph.

“We made an awful, awful rendition of Romeo and Juliet,” Chris chuckled, shutting his eyes as if the memory physically hurt, Tom laughing. “I was shit as Romeo.”

“Oh, I bet you weren't that bad.” Tom said, his teeth pearly white, smiling wide. He had never felt so happy.

Chris had looked at him, and his eyes held some deep, glinting mystery, and only then Tom realized what he had said, blushing to the roots of his hair. Chris smiled, and slid off the wall to stand in front of him. Tom had to swallow his heart back because he felt for sure that he was going throw it up. He had looked up at Chris once but lost his courage and watched his feet, inside his favourite white shoes. And then Chris started laughing. Tom frowned and cocked his head.

“I-” Chris had tried, but another wave of laughter caught to him. “I never introduced myself.”

“Oh.” Tom had laughed. “No, it's okay, I know who you are.”

“Do you?” Chris had asked, and there it was, his mysterious eyes again. Tom had nodded tremulously. “And may I have the pleasure of knowing who you are?”

Tom had stared into his eyes, had made no move or attempt to distance himself when Chris gave a step closer. He was so beautiful, so intelligent and bright that Tom had thought _It's a dream_. Dream or not, he had smiled shyly, and whispered “ _Yes_.”

From then on it had been a mix of lazy kisses, warm embraces and a fever of giggles, that spilled out of Tom like he was a broken record. Chris was warm, and funny, and an amazing kisser. He never slid his hands further than Tom's waist, always gave him a peck as if asking for his permission to deepen the kiss. He tasted like white chocolate, rich and sweet, and Tom couldn't get enough of it, his pale arms wrapped around Chris' neck. At some point, he had accidentally spilled his drink over the back of Chris' shirt, gasping and completely horrified, mumbling a thousands of I'm sorrys, but Chris laughed like it was the funniest thing ever and kissed his cheeks. Tom had been embarrassed but Chris slowly and tactfully drew him out of his shell. It had been glorious and they had stayed glued to each other until dawn had been mere minutes away, and it wasn't until both were sporting red and puffy lips that Chris let Tom go, holding his wrist and pulling him back for another kiss several times before Tom really had to go.

“Promise me I'll see you again.” Chris had whispered after laying another fervent kiss on his lips, holding Tom against the wall comfortably and cupping the back of his head.

Tom, intoxicated with happiness, had batted his eyelashes, and whispered a teasing “I promise.”

~*~

Tuesday proved itself a better day for Tom. He woke like shit, but Chris had left a message on his cell phone when he and Henry had arrived home last night and said his health had improved, even sending a picture of Henry's smiley face.

At the theatre everyone treated him like delicate porcelain, and though Tom insisted that it was alright the staff girls gave him a box of cookies and the director kept praising his performance. It was good, and he laughed good-naturedly until he went back home, taking the time to clean the house and take the garbage out. He was worrying about Henry again when Chris called. He scratched the back of his neck and answered, scrubbing his bathtub single-handedly.

“Hi,” Chris said, clearing his throat before an uncertain “What's up?”

“Nothing much, just cleaning. How's Henry?”

“He's way better. I gave him some vitamin c this morning, he's still coughing but we're working on that.” Tom hummed in response, spraying the excess dirt into the drain. “So...” Chris mumbled, “Er-” Awkward pause. “I don't know how to say this but what are you doing this Friday?”

“What?” Tom dropped the shower spray, that hit the bathtub with a thump, his heart racing. “What do you mean? Chris, we-”

“Tom.” Chris cut him to it. “I know your play starts this Friday.”

A moment of silence. “How do you know that?” Tom asked blankly.

“Emma told me.”

“You still talk to my sister?” Tom asked, angry for not knowing that they still talked behind his back, like a... like a gang. Did she keep Chris updated on Tom's life all the time? Oh, but they were having words later. Words.

“Well, yes.” Chris replied meekly, and Tom could almost feel him shrugging and scratching his bearded chin. “She's a lot of fun.”

Tom felt like saying something nasty but held himself back. “Right. Well, if you're wondering if you can keep Henry for the weekend the answer is yes.”

“Oh, nice.” Chris whispered, impressed with his speed. “Uhm, but wouldn't you rather see him, I don't know, on Saturday and Sunday mornings?”

Tom thought about his talk with Liam, how his old friend hadn't seen his and Chris' child for three months, and said “No, you can take him to see your family, right? I think he misses them.”

“Sure.” Chris sounded impressed, Tom never being one to offer his days willingly. “Okay, then. Do you want to talk to Henry?”

“Yes, please.” There was a rustle as Chris handed the phone.

“Papa?” Henry asked.

“Hi, darling. How are you feeling?”

“I'm okay, I'm not hot anymore but dad keeps giving me this medicine and it tastes awful, papa.” He lamented. “He says it's syrup and it's good because I'm coughing and it tastes like strawberries but it's not the same.”

“Oh, dear. It's alright, just clasp your nose when you're going to swallow it, you won't feel the taste anymore. Okay?” Tom finished the scrubbing and sprayed the bathtub again before stretching his back and going back to the living room, where he still had to vacuum the carpet. House chores were extremely tiresome. When he and Chris were still together they had a housekeeper and he had never noticed how much of a blessing she was in his life. But he couldn't afford having one now in bachelor life.

“Okay.” Henry responded, and at the background Tom could hear Chris saying something, followed by Henry's excited shriek. “Papa, what is your play about?” He asked, voice high. But before Tom could respond there was another rustle and then Chris was speaking to him again.

“Uhm, Tom, I'm taking Henry to the playground now, alright?” Tom could hear Henry babbling something merrily in the background but Chris shushed him.

“What? No, what's going on?”

“We gotta go now.” Chris said quickly. “We'll call again before I put him to bed so you can talk to him, alright? But we have to go.”

“Chris?”

“Bye.”

“Chris!” Tom called, but the line went dead. Affronted, he twisted his lips and huffed. He turned the vacuum cleaner on and spent away his rage, but not all of it. Next in line was Emma. And she was going to _hear it_ from him.

Chris turned to Henry, who was jumping on the sofa, strands of hair bouncing. “Henry,” he called, and put a finger over his lips to shush him. “You can't tell him. Secret.” He zipped his mouth for emphasis, and even locked it with his fingers too, throwing the key away over his shoulder.

Henry giggled and jumped on him. Chris caught him and growled, pretending to bite his belly. Henry shrieked and kicked his legs, but Chris kept him in place. When they stopped, Chris put him back in place and said “I was serious, though, Henry. Not a word. Promise?”

“Promise.” Henry answered, his smile infuriatingly cute. Chris pinched his cheek.

~*~

Opening night got closer and closer and Tom's stomach lurched with nervousness.

He found himself practising more of his breathing exercises, pacing the stage before the final rehearsal. The scenario was finally ready, demanding a quick but well done work from the crew. Mark, the costar that had been sick, had returned yesterday, and word spread that he had to stay until midnight to finish rehearsing his scenes. He looked pale and Tom felt bad for him.

“Awful, man. I was coughing all the time. Awful.” He had told Tom, who linked his symptons to Henry's and realized they perhaps had got the same cold.

“Okay, next, Tom, Mark and Elsa.” The director called them to rehearse, which they did expertly, Tom putting in his last previewed mannerisms, dragging the words to achieve better characterization until the director clapped and the scene was over. “Awesome, guys, awesome. Have a good night and give your lines a last review. The show is tomorrow at ten o'clock, I expect you to be here at seven. Good?” They nodded and were dismissed.

Tom figured he couldn't sleep and having nothing else to do, he put on sweatpants and a cotton jacket and went running. The park was dark, cold and desert. He sat on a wooden bench and remembered when he and Chris dated, how they used to run together, Chris sitting perhaps on this same bench, Tom sitting astride on his knees, and there they stayed and lingered and kissed until their eyes changed colors and the sun rose.

Tom sighed. It was pathetic, really, how much he thought about the past when he should be looking up to the future. He tried telling himself that it was useful in its own way, that he had to remind himself which were the things he didn't like in their relationship so he could correct them on another. But in the end, it brought him more sorrow than comfort. It scared him that perhaps he had made a mistake, and the thought of it was so catastrophic that he shook his head and rose from the bench, repeating his lines once more for practice.

~*~

The theatre's atmosphere was ecstatic, assistants running from one place to another, a flurry of movement and figurines. Tom spread make-up on his face inside his dressing room, taking in constant breaths to calm his heart down. Sarah couldn't come with the kids, neither could his father, but Emma promised to bring his mother and for him, that was enough. Henry was probably having dinner now, he expected, Chris packing his things so they could go visit his family at the other side of town. Good, Tom wished them well.

“Tom, fifteen minutes.” A staff member called.

Tom straightened his back and rose, pacing the room for focus. He exited the dressing room and shook hands with the director, hugging his costars as they concentraded. He met Mark behind the stage's courtines and laughed when he whispered “Break a leg.”

~*~

The show was spectacular, Tom holding hands with his costars as they bowed before the crowd, a standing ovation. Backstage, everyone was laughing and hugging, faces flushed, foreheads sweaty. The director was jubilant, clapping everyone's backs and smiling. The assistants shrieked, talking loudly over themselves. Some relatives gathered by the doors leading backstage and they slowly filtered in, hugging some of Tom's costars, congratulating them and taking pictures. Tom waited patiently for his mother and Emma to arrive but some minutes went by and they still hadn't showed up. He was trying to clean his face off any make-up when he heard it.

“Papa?”

Tom turned quickly, and there, behind him, holding a bouquet of red and white roses was his son, eyes wide and moist, glued on him. He looked so small next to the bouquet, and so entranced on Tom. His heart jumped in his chest, and Tom gasped, bending to hug him.

“Henry!”

Henry handed him the flowers clumsily, “For you, papa,” and wrapped his arms around his neck, not letting go not even when Tom tried to get up. He hid his face on Tom's neck and eyed him shyly from time to time, his eyes still wide.

“Thank you, my love.” Tom kissed his head, his eyes growing wet. “Thank you so much.”

Chris stood a few feet behind Henry, hands on his jeans' pockets, smiling calmly and watching them. Tom, happy, flushed, drenched in sweat and clammy make-up, waved him over as best as he could with a lapful of child and flowers and Chris stepped inside hesitantly. They stood in silence for a while, Tom's costume clinging to his skin.

“He's in awe of you.” Chris explained on his usual drawl and Tom looked down at Henry, who was still hugging his neck tightly.

Tom gulped, nodding, and chanced a look up. Chris looked homey on his green pullover, his smile understanding and warm. “Thanks for bringing him. I- I had no idea.”

Chris chuckled. “Good. He almost spilled the beans.” He winked at Henry, who giggled.

Tom looked down, not really knowing what else to say. They drew some looks from the people around him, Tom's colleagues mostly. He heard whispered ''how cute''s and Mark smiled his way. Heather, a short member of the team, approached them slowly, smiling and pointing to Henry when Tom saw her, “Your son?” She whispered, as if Henry had been sleeping. Tom nodded, and stood with Henry on his arms to show him. She cooed and introduced herself, but Henry ducked his head shyly.

“Ohoho, darling, that's not polite.” Tom admonished him lightly, and Henry lifted his eyes quickly and gave Heather a short smile, hiding his face again on Tom's neck.

Heather laughed, and Tom whispered a quick sorry, but she winked and told him how cute his son was before going back to her own family. Chris stood off to the side, eyeing everything a little lostly as more and more of Tom's colleagues came over to investigate and see Henry, who lost some of his shyness and started waving back instead of answering. Tom beamed, so incredibly happy. Elsa came by too, waving at Henry.

“Hi.” She smiled. “What's your name, darling?” But Henry hid his face again and Tom had to intervene.

“His name is Henry.” He said, turning to his son. “Henry, this is Elsa, papa's friend. Say hi.” Henry watched her for sometime and smiled, ducking his head again. “Sorry, he's shy.”

Elsa laughed. “He's beautiful, Tom.” And risked receiving a response from Henry again. “Are you proud of father, Henry?” Henry stared at her and nodded, not hiding his face again.

“Oh, darling.” Tom murmured, his eyes stinging with tears, kissing his face. Elsa continued to try and talk with Henry and Tom lifted his eyes to meet Chris' across the room, smiling and beckoning him over. Chris walked slowly to meet them, the room filled with people and loud talking and camera flashes. “Have you seen mom and Emma?” Tom asked, Chris beside him.

“Yes.” He said, eyebrows lifting as if just remembering they existed. “Emma took her to the toilet when the play was over.” He scratched his beard. “You know, to dry her tears.” He motioned to his eyes, and Tom chuckled. Elsa looked up from Henry's face and smiled embarrassedly.

“He's lovely, Tom.” She complimented.

“Thanks,” Tom giggled, hugging Henry tighter. Elsa smiled once more and left, and they were left in an awkward silence. Tom watched as everyone around them interacted. It looked so easy. Still, he waited silently for his mother and sister, strangely embarrassed to look at Chris and try to start a conversation. He felt a light prodding at his costume's lapels and shifted his eyes down, where Chris' finger was running down the cloth, Tom lifting his vision slowly until meeting his blue eyes, blushing hotly.

“You were amazing.” Chris said, his voice a little hoarse, as if speaking with difficulty. “Truly.”

Tom didn't know what to say, and for seconds he just stood there looking at him, mouth open. “Uhm- Thanks.” He replied, licking his lips and looking down at his neck, where Henry was draped, watching the room with slow eyes. “And thank you for the flowers.” He added, turning to Chris again, gulping and smiling quickly. “They are beautiful.” And then averted his gaze, afraid that Chris would catch some emotion on his eyes.

But his mother and sister arrived, his mother smiling candidly, Emma following behind, eyes red. She liked to play tough but Tom had always known that she was a softy on the inside.

“Darling,” his mother cupped his face. “You were spectacular.” She gave him a loud smooch on the cheek and Tom thanked her a little timidly.

Emma came next, clearing her throat. “Well done, brother. That was-” She gave a thumbs up, and trailed off. “Sorry we're late, mom got a little emotional.” She added, though their mother's eyes were clear and hers were swollen and red. His mother gave her a smug look that Emma thankfully didn't notice, and Tom chuckled lowly, still achingly aware of Chris' presence beside him.

His ex-husband then proceeded to clear his throat, offering. “Let me take Henry for you.” Tom accepted, his arms already aching with their son's weight. He handed him over and Henry turned his neck to watch him, and Tom had a feeling he wouldn't stop doing that for a while. “Shall we go, then?” Chris asked them, Tom frowning and looking back at his mother and sister, who nodded as if nothing was wrong. His confusion must've shown on his face, as Emma rolled her eyes and explained.

“We're going to The Royal Crustacean.”

“Oh.” Tom knew that place, a quaint little restaurant by the corner. He eyed them unsurely, a little baffled that his family made dining plans with Chris. “Have fun.” He was still carrying his bouquet of flowers, feeling extremely uncomfortable on his costume.

Emma puffed. “Tom,” she stressed. “You're coming with us, silly.”

“What?” Tom blinked.

His mother laughed quietly and Chris hid his smile. “Yeah, now go and change, we'll be waiting.” Emma added, hushing him on. Tom turned on his heels, pleasantly surprised for the second time tonight. “Go, I'll hold the flowers.” Emma intervened, grabbing the bouquet from his hands and giving them a great sniff.

~*~

Chris went ahead, holding Henry's hand as they walked to his car, his mother beside him, Tom and Emma following a meter behind. Tom tugged on Emma's sleeve, his sister giving an inquisitive sideways glance. “Emma, are you sure this is a good idea?” He asked, his eyes pointedly resting on Chris' back.

“Yeah, Tom, I think it's a wonderful idea. We should celebrate your play's success.” She answered, playfully impatient.

Tom gulped, uncertain. “It's just that-”

Emma huffed. “Tom, come on. Remember what I told you? You can't avoid each other forever, and look at Henry, the kid is crazy happy. We'll have fun, you'll see. He's your family too, our family. What are you afraid of?” She asked, the last part softly. Tom looked down at the pavement and didn't say anything. “Besides,” she added, “what are you gonna do? Divorce again?” She snorted.

Tom smiled. Well, she had a point there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! :D Enjoy the chapter!

The Royal Crustacean was a vast interior illuminated by glowing yellow lights, where round, cushioned seats enveloped a similarly round table. It was clean and smelled faintly of cooking vegetables and seafood. An aquarium occupied an entire wall and Henry quickly drew his eyes to it. At this time, another few families were inside the restaurant too, and a maître accompanied them to a table at the centre of the room, where Tom got squished between Emma and Henry, the latter insisting on sitting next to him. He felt awkward because he was still holding the bouquet of flowers, receiving some stares from the people around them. 

They settled and a waiter came with the menus. “Tom.” Chris called, seated beside Henry, Tom looking nervously up at him. “The bouquet,” He gestured to Tom's lap. “Let me help you.” 

“Oh.” Tom handed him the bouquet over the table, and Chris put it beside him on an empty seat. He nodded his thanks and picked the menu up, feeling Emma's eyes on him. 

“I say we get the lobster paella.” Emma eventually said after a minute of them checking the menu. The lobster paella was the main house dish, and the most expensive.

“Emma-” Tom began.

“I agree.” Chris decided, smiling up at her. Tom blinked, ignoring Emma's smug look as she challenged him to say something. His mother, oblivious, smiled and nodded, and even little Henry screamed yay!'. They all looked back at Tom, who sighed in defeat.

“Fine.”

Chris waved the waiter over and ordered, asking for everyone's choice of drinks. They fell on amicable silence as they waited, and when their drinks arrived, they toasted.

“To Tom, to his wonderful play and his magnificent work!” Chris prompted, and they toasted 'to Tom'. Tom beamed and blushed, laughing shortly. Henry lay back against his side, propping his legs on Chris' lap, where his father played with his feet to his imense delight. Tom ran his fingers through his son's brown hair and scanned the place. Henry laughed and giggled and Emma shot him a pointed look which he promptly ignored. 

“Oh, Tom,” His mother called. “Sarah sent her apologies for not being able to make it.”

“Thanks, mom. I'll call her once I get home.” Tom replied, his fingers avoiding the bottom part of Henry's scalp.

“Tom,” Emma intervened, resting on her elbows on the tabletop. “What happened to your character on that scene before the end?”

“Oh,” Tom's eyes glinted, and he proceeded to explain the play's intricacies, discussing his scenes with Emma, his mom, and even Chris, who watched his profile avidly as he spilled a lot of words. Their food arrived and Henry jumped up. He almost snatched the lobster out of the dish to play with it, but Chris managed to hold his hands back. They ate and talked, Tom eating hungrily, his stomach empty, dividing the task of dismantling part of the lobster for Henry with Chris. 

The ambience was quite comfortable, and after finishing the food they leaned back against the seats, a low bossa nova playing on the speakers. Henry climbed on Tom's lap but faced Chris, who leaned to kiss his cheeks and tickle his belly, Henry kicking his legs widely and laughing. Tom smiled, and turned to take a sip of his drink, meeting Emma's eyes. But Henry swung his arms to try and avoid Chris' hands and ended up knocking Tom's drink out of his hand, the dark liquid landing all over half of his shirt and the outside seam of his trousers. Chris halted immediately, and Tom gasped.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Tom.” He apologized, quickly gathering Henry out of his lap, his happiness fading so fast, leaving his face pale with guilt. Emma and his mother gave surprised moans, but Tom had absolutely no reaction, only staring down at his wet lap. “I'm sorry.” Chris said again, as if afraid Tom would cry or freak out.

There was a beat of silence as everyone literally did nothing and then Henry started laughing, his laugh so captivating and innocent that Tom joined. His son cupped a hand around his mouth, and still giggling faintly, whispered “Papa, it looks like you tinkled.”

Tom threw his head back, laughing, cheeks dimpling. “It really does, doesn't it?” 

Chris was looking at him like not quite understanding, but the corner of his mouth was lifting slowly and before Tom knew Emma had stood up and was pulling his wrist along. “Come on, Tom, let's go to the toilet, we'll try to work that out.” His mother rose to allow them passage and Tom excused himself, following his sister into the corner reserved for the toilets. Upon leaving the table, he had heard as Chris had whispered a “You have to be more careful, Henry”.

Emma dragged him to the female toilet and Tom could only try to struggle before they were already inside. “Emma!” He called, but his sister was already checking her reflection on the mirror above the sink, and cast him a curious glance before retrieving some toilet paper destined to dry hands and dabbing it with cold water. “Emma, this is the ladies toilet.” He insisted.

“There's no one inside the stalls, Tom.” She rolled her eyes, and stepped up to rub the wet paper against the already forming stain on his shirt and trousers. 

“Do you even know what you're doing?” He tried to take possession of the wet paper but Emma batted his hand away and sent him a dirty look, pouting. Giving up, he sighed and looked up at the ceiling as Emma continued to rub toilet paper on him. 

“I think you'll need some professional work to remove it completely.” She hummed, throwing the paper away and getting another. The tap hissed as the water fell and Emma shot him a purposeful look from the mirror, moistening the paper. “Henry looks happy tonight.”

Tom smiled despite of himself. “Yes, I think he really enjoyed the play.”

Emma raised her eyebrows, and her lips twisted in a knowing smirk. “Or perhaps he's enjoying spending his time with both his parents. And, you know, not listening to them fight and etc.”

Tom huffed, but didn't cross his arms because Emma was still working on his shirt. “You dragged me here just to rub that on my face, right?” Emma smiled angelically up at him, eyes full of mirth. Tom chuckled and shook his head.

“I'm serious, though,” She added, after realizing no amount of effort compensated when having only toilet paper and water at your disposition. “You should give him a chance.” She shrugged, as if uncertain of her own opinion.

“Give him a chance?” Tom frowned, head cocked to the side. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean you two should talk.” When Tom said nothing in response to that she clarified: “You avoid him like the plague, Tom, and it's not healthy for Henry, we've talked about it before.”

Now Tom crossed his arms. “Well, what do you suggest I do?” 

“I suggest you spend more time together with him.” Emma completed, crossing her own arms, perky, like she was some great thinker granting him the favor of her advice. 

Tom only blinked, snorting and looking down at his shoes. He didn't feel like following Emma's advice. However, he couldn't deny that he was blind to what to do now. “Come on, let's go back.” He said, already turning on his heels when Emma produced a red lipstick out of nowhere.

“Hold on, I need to fix my make-up.”

“What? Where was that?” He asked, flabbergasted. Jesus Christ, her dress had no pockets!

Emma leaned over the sink to apply more lipstick again, and winked his way. “Girl secret, I'll teach you later.”

“Why would I want to-” Tom was cut short by the sound of a flush coming from one of the stalls, and he turned quickly to see a brunette exiting it, halting when seeing him, eyes suspicious.

“What is this man doing here?” The woman shrieked, pointing at Tom accusingly. 

Tom blushed profusely, but was unable to defend himself. Emma, god bless her, switched her eyes back to the woman, and after a sniff, shrugged. “He's gay.”

~*~

True to his promise, Tom had seen Chris again. After four days of invariable giddiness and pinning, he had met him again.

They hadn't swaped numbers at the party, which made the contact a bit more difficult, but they had an intermediate in the form of Liam, who sounded absurdly confused when calling Tom two days after the party to say 'dude, my brother doesn't stop talking about you'. Tom had gone red like a tomato, uncomfortable to have to explain to his friend the nature of his and his older brother's relationship, but as it seemed, Liam hadn't been quite looking for a reason, and had just handed Chris the phone. 

They had agreed on a date: a movie. 

Tom had been at an absolute loss at what to wear, and had to hesitantly pad to Sarah's bedroom door, knocking once before she showed up on her pajamas. She had seemed about to flip him off but something on her expression changed when her eyes had finally landed on him, no doubt his almost fluorescent blush and the way he looked down and contorted his fingers.

“Sarah,” he had whispered, biting his lip. “I need your help.” He had looked down the hallway, afraid someone would show up and hear him. “I- I have a date.”

Instead of teasing him or making a scandal out of it, like Tom had imagined she would, Sarah had been quite serious and helpful, beginning by inspecting his whole wardrobe with a critical look. The white button-down that Tom had tried on and considered was thrown back inside his drawer with no thought to the way he had meticulously ironed it not twenty minutes ago. “You can't go on your first date like it's already your wedding, Tom, you'll scare the man away.” Sarah had reprimanded him, Tom shrinking to the thought of scaring Chris away. He couldn't go wrong on this. “You have to look cute, soft and inviting.” She had then pulled out a green shirt of his, along with a pair of brown trousers he had forgotten he owned. “Remember: you don't want him to kiss your knuckles and recite a poem, you want him to grab your ass.”

“I like poems.” Tom had whispered upon trying the clothes. And he wouldn't mind if Chris kissed his knuckles either, but unfortunately for him, Sarah had heard his whisper, and snorting, had raised her eyebrows and said “Believe me, you'll want him to grab your ass.”

Tom had approved the look, though he normally wouldn't agree on being so... revealing. The shirt was okay, but the trousers were a little tight in some places, like on his ass. He raised the hem of his shirt to show Sarah the problem and had received a whistle for his trouble. “Don't go doing that on the guy if you're not taking any condoms with you, little brother.” She had teased, Tom huffing, hating when his sisters made jokes on his ass' size. Sarah had also rubbed some cologne behind his ears and on his collarbone, and though Tom wanted to complain, he had to say it smelled nice, like cotton, suave and unobtrusive. 

Sarah had sat with him in the living room as they waited for Chris' call, his sister making small talk to distract him from his nerves to no avail. Chris had finally called, letting him know that he was waiting by the end of the street, as they had agreed on, Tom too shy to have Chris pick him up at his house. 

“Don't worry, little brother. If he's intelligent he won't let you go.” Sarah had said, kissing his forehead and slipping a condom on his back pocket, Tom shooting her a look as she waved peacefully from the front steps.

Chris had looked divine, on khaki pants and a black shirt. Upon seeing Tom walking down the street, he had opened his car's door for him, and Tom had absolutely melted. He didn't know if he should shake his hand or kiss him, for the latter hadn't been a problem to them on Liam's party, but Chris behaved as a gentleman and kissed his cheek, taking the decision out of his hands. Blushing, Tom had sat in the passenger seat and kept swallowing back the bile that threatened to rise on his throat, feeling like he was about to throw up the whole time, Chris complimenting his look with a genuine “Wow, Tom, you looking amazing.” 

Chris had kept swerving through different streets and Tom had gripped the new leather of the seat with clammy hands. He wasn't a bad driver but Tom's nervousness had a habit of leaving him nauseous. When they finally arrived at the movie theatre and waited in line to get their tickets, Tom had been sure he was as green as his shirt, his fingers shaking lightly, though he tried to hide it not to scare Chris away, and shoved them inside his pockets. 

Chris had been eyeing the posters to choose their movie, and had looked back at Tom to ask for his opinion, pausing and frowning. He had slid his hand to Tom's back, stroking between his shoulders and whispering a tiny “Hey, you okay?”. Tom had nodded as best as he could, but had made the mistake of looking down at his shoes and had almost thrown up right there, on Chris' shoes, on their first date, his Addam's apple bobbing as he shut his eyes. “Hey,” Chris had called again, enveloping his waist to bring him closer to his chest. “It's okay.” 

“Sorry,” Tom had said, feeling terribly embarassed. “I get nervous.”

Chris had laughed. Not a mocking laughter, a warm and throaty laughter, that shook his chest. “God,” he had whispered, “You're adorable.” Tom had smiled faintly, and Chris kept stroking his back, “Alright. Well, look up, focus on a light.” He had instructed Tom, “Right, now take a deep breath, like that, keep doing that, no hurry. No hurry, Tom, it's okay.”

Tom had kept breathing like Chris instructed him, his heart beat decelerating as he breathed out and in and as Chris' hand drew a circle on his back. After a while he got better, his nausea subsiding, leaving only the strong and warm feeling of Chris' chest on his shoulder. He breathed out a relieved sigh, and lay his head on Chris' shoulder. Chris chuckled and kissed the top of his head. After paying for both their tickets, though Tom tried to intervene, Chris bought them popcorn, getting Tom a cold water bottle and some mint candies. 

“Thank you.” Tom had said, taking a sip of the water. 

Chris laughed again. “Anything you need.”

To tell the truth there was nothing more stupid than being nervous next to Chris, he was such a good sport, so understanding and funny that being nervous and nauseous felt like something absolutely unnecessary. He joked with the vendors, drawing smiles from people he didn't even know. He was kind, good-hearted and simple, filled with a sense of humor that made Tom wonder how on earth he had met such a dork and at the same time go weak on his knees. In no time, he was smiling and laughing as they waited for the movie to begin. 

The movie had begun and they sat at the row of seats farther from the screen. The room had been blessedly empty save for some highschool couples, who sat far away from them and minded their own business, or as it had appeared, their own kisses. They pretended to watch the movie for the first few minutes, but it was indeed a sad and poor excuse for a motion picture. The air conditioning in the room was also powerful and Tom had been freezing, drawing closer to Chris' shoulder. 

“You want my jacket?” Chris offered, and Tom eyed the jacket Chris had retrieved from the backseat of his car, folded on his lap.

“Oh, no, please, it's yours.”

“I brought it for you.” Chris confessed. “I don't mind the cold.” And Tom noticed that Chris indeed didn't seem to be bothered with the temperature, his shirt leaving his biceps in full view. Shrugging, he had accepted, and Chris had enveloped the jacket around his shoulders, the material too big on him, but it smelled deliciously of Chris. And still, Tom inched closer to him, his eyes leaving the screen far more times than he could count. Chris was also growing bored, if the way he stretched his arms and wrapped one around Tom's shoulders was anything to go by, whispering a joke about the character that made Tom lose his breath laughing. Chris gave him a sly smile and Tom grinned, laying his head over Chris' shoulder and watching him.

Sighing, Chris threw away all pretense that they had been still watching the movie, and with his arm around Tom's shoulder, had pulled him closer to him until they were cuddling as best as they could while still seated. Chris inhaled deeply and boldly, set a kiss on Tom's jaw. “You smell amazing.” He had said, the praise making Tom blush. Excited, he lifted his head and rested his face against Chris' cheek, letting him feel the outline of his nose and mouth. Chris chuckled, and ducked swiftly to give him a peck on the mouth, the kiss feeling like an awaited for shower on Tom's mind, everything forgotten save for the feel of their lips together. Tom hummed, eyes shut, and clasped his hands around Chris' neck, bringing it closer so they could kiss again, tiny and persistent pecks, interrupted by warm breaths of laughter and quick smiles, before Chris held Tom's waist to the seat with his other hand and delved to taste his tongue again. 

It was much like last time, Chris' mouth familiar to his own, the same, immutable taste of white chocolate. Yet, it was completely new. Tom felt safe, in the dark, where no partygoer whooped or catcalled for them, where Chris kissed him almost reverently, but still casually, wrapped around his big jacket and his big arms, his smell overwhelming his senses. Chris was also a little obsessed with Tom's hair, running his hand over his curls and often recoiling to descend kisses on the nape of his neck, nuzzling behind his ear and groaning lowly whenever Tom would gasp. 

He didn't know for how long they did that, but as the movie ended, Chris' hand, that been massaging his waist all along, had already slipped under his shirt, Tom letting him feel up his narrow waist, belly and ribs. When the credits swam past the screen and the lights flooded the room again they had finally parted, smiling and laughing as if they had done something illegal and came out unscathed. Tom had even averted his eyes when it was obvious that Chris was sporting a semi, and they had held hands until reaching Chris' car, the older boy driving Tom home, pausing on red lights to kiss him over the console, letting him keep his jacket. It had been amazing, sweet and hot. And oh, Sarah had been right, he had really wanted Chris to grab his ass. 

~*~

Upon returning to their table from the ladies room -Tom's cheeks flushed a stark red-, they found Chris and Henry missing while their mother savored large spoonfuls of ice cream. Emma quickly sat beside her to share the dessert while Tom looked around for his son and ex-husband. “Mom...?” He began to ask, but his mother lifted a quick finger and pointed on the aquarium's direction, where surely, Chris stood with Henry on his arms, pointing at all the fishes and shellfishes swimming around and paying them bored eyes. 

Tom smiled when he caught sight of Chris making a funny face at one of the fishes, who swam closer to the glass to investigate.

“He liked you, dad, he liked you.” Henry shrieked, tapping a greasy finger on the glass' surface.

Tom chuckled and took his seat back. 

“We all had dessert but were afraid to ask any for you since you were taking so long.” His mother supplied, batting Emma's spoon away. 

“It's okay.” Tom replied, stretching his neck to look over the seats as Henry laughed, the fish gurgling a large bubble for them. When Chris turned on his heels to go back to the table Henry saw Tom and asked to be released, Chris putting him on his feet, his sneakered feet screeching down the way as he threw himself on Tom, Chris following on a slower pace behind. 

“I'm so sorry, papa. I'm very clu- clusm-” He looked over his shoulder to Chris for help, who gave a backstage whisper of 'clumsy'. Henry nodded, turning to Tom, “Very clumsy.” He finished. Tom chuckled, and ducked his head to kiss his forehead, bringing him to his lap. Chris sat beside them and waved the waiter, whom he had already seemed to have befriended, asking for the bill.

His mother talked to Emma and Chris lowly while Tom watched as Henry got drowsy, blinking slowly around them. He flicked his wrist to see that it was already past his sleeping time, glad that tomorrow was Saturday and his son could sleep until late. He felt a pang in his chest when realizing that he wouldn't see him until next week, at most. 

The waiter arrived with the bill and Tom quickly reached for his wallet, Chris doing the same. Oh, no, the boring part.

“Chris,” He called over Henry's head. “Let me.”

“No.” Chris denied, looking determined.

“Please, it's my opening night.”

“Exactly.” Chris emboldened, shaking his head. “It's on me.” He pulled his platinum credit card.

“Chris.” Tom asked again, his mother touching his arm to whisper a 'Tom, please'. Henry squirmed on his lap. “It's not- Chris-” 

“You didn't tell him, Chris?” Emma spoke above him, staring at Chris expectantly. To Tom's horror, Chris shook his head piously.

“What?” Tom asked. He hated to be let out of things. “What is it?”

Still Chris didn't say anything, just reached for the credit card's machine. Emma grinned, and leaned on her elbows to turn to Tom. “He's been promoted.” 

“Oh.” Tom said, hugging Henry closer to him. In reality there wasn't really much he could say. “I didn't know that.” He cleared his throat. “Congratulations.”

Chris shot him a smile. “Thanks.”

“But still-”

“Tom.” Emma cut. “You don't get it, do you?” She leaned closer to him to whisper, and though her efforts were valiant, everyone at the table could hear. “He's even richer now.” And winked his way before leaning back on her seat again, Chris giving her the tongue. His mother gave a light chuckle. Blushing and not knowing what to do, Tom looked down to fix Henry's shirt, and once Chris was done, rose and took Henry back to Chris' car. 

He fixed Henry on the backseat and was about to sit beside him when Emma showed up to pull him back by his waist. “Emma-” She shushed him.

“Go to the front seat.” She whispered, ushering him on with her purse. 

“What? No, Emma-” Chris settled on the driver's seat, and thumbed down his cell phone as he waited for everyone to sit. “Emma, I won't.”

“Is everything okay?” Chris asked, turning worried eyes to them. 

Before Tom could respond Emma pushed him forward, her voice so falsely worried that Tom wondered how Chris could've believed what she said. “Yes, but Tom is feeling a bit nauseous, you know how he is. I think it'd be better if he took some air. Oh, here, Tom, the front seat's window is lowered.” 

And that was how Tom ended up at the front seat beside Chris, huge gusts of wind on his face, his ex-husband licking his lips and turning to him all the time to ask how he was feeling, 'deep breaths, Tom, deep breaths'. He looked back at the backseat to find Emma with crossed legs and a smug smile, Henry between her and his mother, asleep.

“Tom, you want me to drop you first?” Chris asked softly. Emma and his mother lived in another part of the city, a twenty minutes drive, and Tom lived just by a couple blocks. He was about to nod when Emma extended her red nails into his side, pushing her face in between them to answer loudly.

“Oh, Chris, you'd be such a sweetheart to leave me and my mother first. Mom has to take her medicine really fast,” She elbowed Tom when he tried to intervene, mom took no medicines. “And I need to feed my cat.”

“Sure.” Chris conceded, turning a left to change routes. Outraged, Tom looked back at his mother, willing her to at least say something, but as it appeared his mother was staring peacefully ahead, and upon catching his eyes, smiled and winked. Tom huffed and crossed his arms, staring stubbornly out the window.

The drive was made short as Chris and Emma talked lively, and when they finally arrived at their mother's and Emma's house, Chris exited the car to help his mother out, Tom kissing her cheek goodnight before she went inside. Emma cooed over Henry's sleeping form and kissed his forehead, but before she followed his mother into their house, smacked Tom with her purse, hissing a “Talk to him.” Tom rolled his eyes, but couldn't avoid Emma's pinching fingers on his cheek. 

Chris settled back on the driver's seat and Tom looked down at his lap, fiddling with his fingers. They drove out of the street and Chris sighed, “What does she want?” He asked, gaining Tom's attention.

“Emma?” Chris nodded, and Tom chuckled, looking out the window again. When it was clear Chris was still waiting for an answer, he conceded. “She wants us to talk.”

Chris hummed, “About what precisely?”

Tom shrugged. “About-” He waved his hand between them, but Chris still eyed him funny. “About how we seemingly do nothing but fight.” He sighed. “And how it's affecting Henry.”

“I see.” Was Chris answer, which sounded like 'I agree'. They were silent for a moment until he said, “Well, do you?” Tom hummed in question, and Chris repeated. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don't really know what to talk about. It just happens.” He shrugged. In a way, it couldn't be helped. They weren't the same anymore.

“Well, we could start by discussing when we keep Henry.”

Tom frowned, turning his head fast. “What's wrong with when we keep Henry?”

“Nothing.” Chris was quick to reply, and if he could, would've raised his hands in submission. “But your play is getting in the way of your weekends now and perhaps you could keep him on week days. You know. We could trade.” Tom said nothing and Chris added a “If that's okay with you.”

It was okay with him. His week days were mostly useless now that he performed only on weekends. He could take Henry out too, for ice cream, for the park. “Okay.” 

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.”

Chris laughed. “Great.” There were still some miles until they reached Tom's house, so they were silent for a while longer, but Chris cleared his throat before saying “And about Henry, we could-” He shrugged. “I think we could spend more time with him.” He swallowed. “Together.”

“What do you mean?” Tom asked, surprised.

“Like, we can pick him up at school and then take him somewhere, to the zoo, an amusement park. Do you know he has never been to one?”

“Yes, I know.” Tom sighed. “But wouldn't it be like- like...?” He stammered.

“Like we were still married?” Chris completed, giving him a quick sideways glance.

Tom shut his eyes quickly and raised his eyebrows. “Yes, that.”

“No, I don't think so.” Chris replied. “What makes Henry sad is that we can't live with each other peacefully again, so I think we could show him that we still can. Without, obviously, being married again.”

The sound of the tires running over the asphalt was all they heard before Tom spoke his mind. “I- I'll think about it.” Chris smiled, and he was quick to add that “I'm not promising anything, I'm just-” He sighed, looking up at the car's ceiling. “I'll think about it.”

“No problem.” Chris said, and parked in front of his house, where cicadas sang amidst the bushes of grass Tom still hadn't had the time to mown. Tom exited the car, and so did Chris, opening the door to the backseat for him so Tom could bend to say goodbye to Henry, not doing much other than holding his head and kissing his face. He slid out of the seat, blushing and looking away quickly when seeing that Chris had been a bit slow to stop staring at his ass. 

“Goodnight, Chris.” He whispered, yelping when his ex-husband swept him in a hug, happier now that they had talked. 

“Goodnight, Tom.” Chris replied, Tom immobile against his chest, hands fanning his shoulders uncertainly. “Thanks for tonight.” Chris added, letting go of him. “I loved your play.”, and tipping an invisible hat, walked backwards. “I'll come back for more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any typos and thanks for the comments and kudos. You can also contact me on [ tumblr](http://www.potentialfordisaster.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for the kudos and comments, they're super nice! This chapter has some sad parts but nothing drastic, there are other cool things too. Also, I've added this "~*~*~" to the break where their back story enters, and for the present the break is the usual this "~*~", just so you don't get lost when I randomly add their back story into the present.

Chris called on Monday, and they agreed that Tom could pick Henry at school tomorrow. Before hanging up, Chris had asked “And did you, uhm, think about it?”

Tom sighed, turning down the volume of the television and wiggling his toes on top of the coffee table. “Yeah, I mean, no. But I'll let you know once I do.”

Chris didn't press him for anything further, and hung up after short goodbyes.

Tom drove to the school with half a mind on what his decision would be. The solution to his problem seemed to be to accept Chris' proposal. Henry would be happy to the see them together and well, and Tom could finally exit that shell of seclusion he seemed to have entered since their divorce. On the other hand, spending more time with Chris would be hard for him. He wouldn't know what sort of position to assume when next to his ex-husband, he wouldn't want to seem too serious and grumpy as well as he wouldn't want to look too nice and inviting, afraid of might happen to him if he did. Besides, spending more time with Chris was no guarantee that they would spend it well. For all they knew, it could only increase their fights' intensity and frequency. 

Holding back a groan, Tom parked his car next to the school's gate and waited patiently outside. Everything was just the same as any other Friday when he used to do so, and in no time, well-acquainted parents talked to each other while Tom checked his wrist watch, thinking about where to take Henry next. 

When the bell rang, the children exited the school quickly. Tom scanned the crowd of little heads after his son, but there didn't seem to be sign of Henry. Intrigued, Tom walked forward, turning his neck from side to side. Other children hugged their parents and laughed, a multitude of high voices and gentle whispers. Tom's heart began to beat faster and he willed himself to calm down. He tried to find Lindsay, to at least ask her where Henry was, if he was still inside, but then he looked to the side and saw him. He was next to a little friend of his, and both were speaking to a couple that seemed to be the friend's parents. Relieved, Tom sighed, and walked in their direction until Henry looked around and saw him, mouth hanging open.

“Papa!” He screamed, and came running to embrace Tom's legs.

“Darling, what did I tell you about running?” Tom asked, but ruffled Henry's hair. 

Henry smiled up at him and waved his little friend over, who looked to his parents until both nodded, watching Tom with curious eyes. 

Henry's friend approached them, his big eyes on Tom. “Papa, this is Scott.” Henry introduced. Scott smiled shyly at Tom, and lowered his eyes in that cute way children did. “Scott, this is my papa.” Henry said, Scott nodding as if not quite knowing what else to do with that information.

“Hello, Scott, it's so nice to meet you.” Tom said, extending his hand, Scott shaking it curtly with his own smaller one. The boy was adorable. He was dark-skinned and seemed to like the color blue a lot, with blue shoes, blue pants and a blue backpack. His hair was short, and he had huge dark eyes. He looked like a good boy and Tom was proud of his son for making good choices on friendship. Scott's parents approached them slowly, a woman in a salmon coat and a man in beige slacks. “Hello, there.” Tom conceded, not blaming them for being cautious with their son. “I'm Tom, Tom Hiddleston, Henry's father.” He extended his hand and the man shook it, smiling nicely. The woman greeted him too and smiled.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hiddleston, we are Sarah and Matt Johnson.” The man said, pointing to him and his wife. 

“Oh, I have a sister named Sarah too, what a coincidence!” Tom smiled, the woman laughing. 

“That's lovely. Well, our sons seem to like each other pretty much, right?” Sarah asked, and the three of them switched their gazes back at Henry and Scott, who smiled and ducked their heads, shy in the presence of adults.

“It's not often that we see you around, Mr. Hiddleston.” Matt said.

“Oh, just Tom, please. Yes, Chris usually comes to pick Henry on week days, and I do so on Fridays.” Matt and Sarah lifted their eyebrows, as if remembering seeing him there on Fridays. “But we had to change schedules this week and well,” He trailed off, looking down at Henry and pinching his cheek, his son hugging his leg again and swaying on his feet. 

“Oh, that's wonderful, Henry is such a lovely child. Congratulations.” Sarah said, and Tom blushed, holding Henry's shoulder closer to him. “He behaves so well when he comes to our house, doesn't he, Matt?” The woman asked her husband, who nodded quietly. Tom's smile faltered a little, and his vision fixed on a point in the asphalt. Chris had never told him that Henry went to a friend's house. “And your husband is such a good man, absolutely delightful. He cooks the best apple pie we've ever eaten, right, Matt?” Matt nodded again. Tom winced, they thought they were still married.

“Uhm, actually-” He began, clearing his throat. “Me and Chris, we- we're divorced, so...” 

“Oh, Jesus,” The woman gasped, hand to her chest. “I'm so sorry, I had no idea. Oh, what a mistake of mine. Please, forgive me.” Tom laughed, and shook his head good-naturedly. He knew the woman hadn't meant to offend.

“It's okay, and his apple pie is really good.” Tom smiled, trying to regain the good humor. 

Sarah laughed, “Sorry. I always thought you were too busy to come to our meetings.” Sarah looked like she was about to say something else but his husband checked his watch. “We're sorry, Mr. Hiddleston,” Tom asked her to call him Tom again, and she conceded. “Tom, we're very sorry but we have to go. We have to be at the church in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, no problem. Nice meeting you too, and you, Scott.” Henry and little Scott said their goodbyes, and Tom waved as they went back to their cars, Mr. Johnson waving from the driver's seat.

They were very nice people, and Tom was surprisingly not regretful for having met them. Chris was usually much better on this all getting along part, and Tom had always thought that he would suck when trying to talk to other people. 

He led Henry to his car by his hand. “Scott looks like a nice boy, Henry.”

“He is.” Henry affirmed, and on their drive to the mall, told Tom all about how he and Scott used to draw and eat their lunch together. 

At this time and day, the mall wasn't too busy. Tom went to his favorite shop and bought some new clothes, the attendants talking to Henry and cooing, keeping a vigilant eye on him on Tom's request as he squeezed himself into a dressing room. Next, he took Henry for some new clothes too, greeting the girls from the shop, who knew him well since he first came here to buy Henry's baby clothes. They were all surprised to see Henry so big, and gasped when he proudly extended five fingers when they asked after his age. Tom bought everything that Henry chose, just being careful to try it out on him before. Children's clothes were expensive and with the way they grew so quickly, it was important to be sure that Henry would be able to at least keep them for a week. 

They ate at a quaint little bistro, Tom chewing on his salad as Henry ate his fill of rice, a litte beef and mashed potatoes. They shared a cup of fruits and iogurt for dessert, and Tom licked his lips before asking “You always go to Scott's house, Henry?”

Henry shook his head, but the answer took a while longer to arrive as he ate another spoonful. “Just when I'm with dad.”

Tom hummed. “You mean, you and your father go to their house?” Henry nodded, still more interested on the food. “I see. But why do you go there?”

“Dad and Scott's parents are good friends, and we go there when he wants to see Alice.” Henry answered, licking his spoon and smacking his lips.

“Alice?” Tom asked, frowning and looking down at their cup to scoop more dessert before Henry finished it by himself. 

“Yeah.” Henry agreed. 

When it was clear he wouldn't elaborate any further, Tom asked “Who's Alice, darling?”

Henry hummed. “Scott's younger sister. She's sick, I think.”

Tom paused. “Really?”

Henry nodded, chewing on a single strawberry. “Like, she's always sick, and dad takes me to their house and we have dinner with them. Then I play with Scott while he takes care of Alice.”

“Oh”, Tom frowned. “That's sad.” They continued eating until they were almost done, and Tom couldn't help himself. “And this Alice, is she okay now that your father took care of her?”

Henry pouted and frowned. “I don't know.” And after Tom paid and they were leaving, added “Dad doesn't like talking about it.”

~*~*~

They had spent their vacations like that: going from one date to another, until Sarah's fashion services weren't needed anymore and Tom started choosing clothes out of the blue, so frequent were their encounters. Everytime Tom ran down the stairs and one of his sisters or mother saw him, they would ask “Going out with your man again?” And that was how they had treated Chris: 'your man', or 'Tom's man'; until Tom accidentally let it escape in one of his many daydreamings that Chris had once played Romeo, then they started calling him 'Romeo', 'your Romeo', 'Tom's Romeo'. Tom absolutely didn't like to think that that made him Juliet, and how their relationship ended with both their deaths. Anyway, their treatment of Chris decayed to gaping mouths and amazed gasps when Tom finally had the courage to introduce him, when they had been well over their seventh date, pulling Chris' hand through his house's doorframe to say “Girls, this is Chris.”

It hadn't been supposed to sound serious, they knew that Tom and Chris hadn't been dating. Yet. But they were such teases that Tom just had to shut them up, ending for good the questions about Romeo's good looks. 

When Tom had returned home that night, after another amazing date with Chris, Sarah had eyed him with huge and impressed eyes, had patted his shoulder and said “Good job, little brother. Good job.”

The thing was that Tom had also been afraid. They only had another week together, and then Chris would have to go back to college. More than once, Tom thought about how he would forget him, his feelings for Chris reduced to a temporary summer fling, perhaps even joked about, how Christopher Hemsworth managed to snatch his little brother's friend. Deaf with the ringing bells of his surely upcoming tragedy, Tom had been hesitant to agree on another date, but found it impossible to say no when Chris called on one of their last nights.

They had gone to a little park, nothing much, just a pond the size of a very large puddle, a children's playground right next to it. Tom hadn't known why Chris would've chosen such a weird location to make out if it weren't because he had wanted to end things that day. And sad, had only barely reciprocated Chris' greeting kiss when he had showed up at his doorstep so they could go. Chris had obviously noticed it, but hadn't said a thing, looking nervous and fidgety. Tom took that to mean the end, and when Chris had led him to the little wooden bench in front of the pond, some bushes hiding them from view partially but children's screams and yelps still in hearing distance, Tom had sat and looked away in an attempt to hide his tears, feeling so stubborn, angry that this had been it, goodbye, Tom. 

Chris, sensing his mood, slid his hand over his, closed in a fist on Tom's lap. “Tom?” He had asked. “Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong? Something you didn't like?” He had whispered, slowly, worried. Tom shook his head but still hadn't looked his way. Chris had cleared his throat and had held his hand, content with just that contact before he said: “I think you know that I'm going back to college next week.” Tom had nodded, and Chris had murmured “I'm sorry.” And then slipped something cold on Tom's hand. 

Tom, swallowing past the lump that had formed on his throat, had opened his hand to see what it was, his expression the one of a kicked puppy. On the palm of his hand lay a collar, the string thin and silver. The pendant was a transparent globe, tiny even next to his fingers. Intrigued, Tom pulled it closer to his face, where he saw that inside it a small, almost imperceptible red flower was wrapped around a tiny piece of parchment. 

“I made it.” Chris had said, swallowing dryly when Tom turned to face him. “I made it for you.”

“It's beautiful.” Was all Tom could've said. 

Chris had chuckled, and enveloped Tom's hands around it. “It's yours.”

“Why- Why are you giving me this?” Tom had asked, fearful.

“It's-” Chris hadn't answered right away, and had instead looked at his feet, and spent some time kicking around some dirt. “It's a gift.” He had finally said. Tom felt like saying that well, it wasn't his birthday, but refrained from doing so. “Tom.” He had called, and gripped Tom's hand on his again. “We- I like you a lot.” Tom looked down, waiting for the 'but'. “And I couldn't have asked for more perfect vacations. Meeting you made me see life in another way. You're special.” He had gulped. “Very special. And I-” Chris had lifted his other hand, and with it he played with Tom's curls. “I would be very, very, very happy if you'd accept me as your boyfriend, and me as yours.”

Tom couldn't have believed what he had heard, his face pale, mouth gaping, eyes wide. “You-” He choked on a laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Chris had said, his hand caressing Tom's cheek. “I'm very serious.”

Tom almost screamed in happiness, but he remembered himself and just cupped Chris' face with both his hands. “Yes.” He said, nodding. “Yes, yes, yes.” Chris beamed and growled when he bent to kiss him. 

Chris had kissed him in a way that sent shivers down his spine, not sexual, but slow, languid and full of meaning. He gripped Tom's hair gently and swung his head on different angles, lips moving like in a slow dance. It had been consuming, and Tom blushed more than he would have if Chris had finally grabbed his ass. He had felt as if Chris had wanted to eat his teeth. 

“Chris, there are children here.” Tom had laughed on his ear when Chris had let him go to breath down his neck, squeezing Tom's thin chest in his arms. Chris gave a non-commital response in the form of a grunt and then they were kissing again, Tom rolling his eyes in pure bliss. He wanted to speak but Chris wouldn't let go of his mouth, so tentatively, he slid his hand into his own pocket, and retrieved the piece of paper he had been unsure about bringing. 

“What is this?” Chris had asked, looking down curiously.

“It's my gift to you.” Tom said, and handed it to him, resting on his shoulder as Chris eyed the letter, giving him an astounded look, Tom smiling and lowering his head.

“Is that-?” Chris asked, but Tom shot him a single look and he dismantled the envelope, dragging the paper out to read it. “Tom.” He had called.

“Yes, darling.”

“Tom. Tom.” Chris turned the page so Tom could see it, as if he hadn't already read it a thousand times, his acceptance letter. Chris smiled. “Tom, this is my college.”

Tom beamed and hid his face on his neck. “I know.” He gasped, and shut his eyes in bliss.

~*~

Tom left Henry at school Friday morning, his son talking non-stop about the weekend he spent with Chris' family, about how he played football with Liam, made a cake with his grandma and spent the days with his cousins. Tom listened and kissed his cheeks when they arrived at the school, waving at Scott, who sat on a bench waiting for Henry. In the afternoon, he drove to the theatre calmly, and changed clothes so the group could make a quick rehearsal before they opened the doors to the public. He was checking his cell phone for any emails when Elsa appeared beside him, setting some things on a table.

“Hey, Tom.” She greeted.

“Hi, Elsa.” Tom smiled.

She stood beside him for a while, adjusting what appeared to be her makeup. “So, did your family like the play?”

“Yes, they did.” 

She hummed. “Nice. My family is back in Spain so...” She tilted her head as though trying not to think about it. 

“Oh, that's terrible. I'm sorry.” Tom winced, but didn't really know what else to say. 

“Yeah. It's fine.” She shrugged, sad, and fiddled with a mascara tube. Tom was feeling that her real intention was to talk about something else, so he just stood and idly checked some messages on his phone, smiling when Chris sent him a photo of him and Henry at the bookstore. “You know, Tom-” Elsa said, and sighed before looking down at her own hands. “It's just that there was a gentleman here with you last Friday.” Tom frowned, but listened patiently as she spoke. “You know?” She asked, “Tall, blonde...” Elsa gestured to Chris' similar height, and scratched her neck embarassedly. “And I was wondering who he was, like...” She trailed off, blushing.

“Oh.” Tom understood. “Oh.” He cleared his throat, feeling something like revolt. “Erm- You mean Chris.” Elsa nodded, eyes hopeful. Tom felt nauseous. 

“And is he, I don't know, your cousin? Your brother?” She asked, waiting excitedly for his reply.

“Uhm, actually-” Tom stalled, and some of his discomfort must have shown because Elsa's smile faltered a little. “Actually he's Henry's father.” He licked his lips. “My ex-husband.”

Surprised, Elsa gave a step back. “Oh my god.” She looked so embarrassed that Tom felt a little bad for her. “I'm so sorry, Tom, I- I had no idea.” She hid her face with her hands and gave a nervous chuckle. “Jesus, I'm so sorry, please, I didn't know, I'm so embarrassed.”

Tom waved it away. “It's okay, no problem.” He lied, guts twisting with jealousy.

“Oh my.” Elsa sighed, and let go of her things to adjust her hair. “Uhm- I'm really sorry, but,” She laughed nervously again. “He's very, you know...attractive.”

Tom grinned, uncomfortable. “Yes.”

“It was stupid of me, I- I'm very lonely at the moment.” She shook her head, and shut her eyes, and for a moment Tom thought that she was crying. She swallowed and pinched the bridge of her nose, Tom feeling genuinely bad for her, patting her shoulder. 

“It's okay, I understand. I don't mind it, really.” And because he wanted so much to see her happy again, and because he felt so bad for making her sad, and because perhaps it could help him to finally move on if Chris.... He thought it would be a good idea, if he just... “If you want to, I can introduce you.” 

He spoke so fast that he had hopes that she wouldn't hear it, or maybe not listen correctly, but in less than a second she lifted her head and beamed, eyes clear. “Really?” 

And Tom should've know. She was, for a fact, a very good actress.

~*~

He arrived home in somewhat of a bad mood. He drove to school to pick Henry up but remembered at the last minute that he had traded schedules with Chris, going back home with down-turned lips. Elsa had sent him a message asking when he could introduce her to Chris and he almost, almost felt like crying. He had hopes that she would forget it, but had a feeling she wouldn't let go of that bone so easily. Cursing his big mouth and his too good intentions, he took a quick shower and ate dinner while watching the news, the food cold because he didn't feel like heating it. He wondered if at this time Chris was taking Henry with him to Scott's house for dinner, and what disease ailed the boy's little sister that had Chris taking care of her.

He paused to think about all the things he didn't know about Chris. Their divorce hadn't even completed a whole year, and yet it seemed like it had been two years ago when he finally signed his name on the papers, avoiding Chris' pleading eyes at the other side of the table, calling his mother to whisper that it was “Over, mom. It's over. My marriage is over.” And now he found out that Chris pretty much helped everyone at the school, knew their son's friends and their parents, and even went to their houses to take them his delicious homemade apple pie and take care of their sick child for free. 

Then he remembered Elsa, and how he had so effortlessly offered her all of that. And he realized that for some things, you have to be brave.

He took his cell phone in hand before he could think twice, and dialed Chris' number by heart. It rang twice, and he held on with bated breath until Chris answered with a “Hello?”

“Chris?” He asked, lamely.

“Yep.” There was the distinct sound of children screaming and laughing in the background and he couldn't help asking what was that.

“Ah, I have some of Henry's friends over for a pajamas party.” He laughed.

“Okay. Listen, I-” He took in a breath. “I've thought about it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. And I want to do it.”

Chris breathed for some seconds, and then, seriously, asked “Are you sure?”

And Tom looked ahead, determined. “Yes, I'm sure.”

~*~*~

Their college time had been wonderful. Tom loved studying subjects he really liked instead of physics and mathematics, which had been obligatory in highschool. On the first days he had felt a little lost, the campus great and big and full of new people and new discoveries he couldn't wait to make, but Chris had showed him everything around, holding his hand everywhere they went to and introducing him to some of his friends, the administrative crew and even the janitors, who traded jokes with Chris and patted his back. Tom was shy and used to glue himself to Chris' side to try and hide his face. Chris had called it his 'ostrich syndrome', saying Tom just didn't stuck his head in a hole in the sand because the floor was made of concrete, and, of course, because Chris wouldn't allow him to hurt himself. 

Tom's classmates had been pretty much like him, and for the first time, he had felt as if he truly belonged somewhere, discussing different plays with them and not being thought of as just the 'theatre kid', as was the way in highschool.

But if he had thought that going to the same college as Chris meant that they could see more of each other, he had been disappointed. The Medical School was at the other side of campus, a good walk even if Tom was feeling athletic at the day. They talked mostly via telephone, and spent the weekends together. Tom hadn't liked going to Chris' dorm room because when they were alone on it he felt strangely pressured to have sex even if all they did was play video game and bet kisses over winning runs on Mario Kart, and also because Chris' roomate was sort of an asshole, just greeting them when he felt like it and eyeing Tom as if he was a random person that had suddenly materialized into his room. 

But even their weekend encounters were not that productive. Chris apparently had a loadsome of complicated subjects. On finals week he always walked around with dark circles under his eyes and on such a bad mood that Tom often resigned himself to running his fingers through his oily hair and kissing his cheek repeatedly to avoid confrontations. Their most productive time was on Wednesdays, when both he and Chris had a spare time and met at the park at the centre of campus, where Tom would sit under a huge tree and read Shakespeare until Chris showed up. He always threw around his anatomy books, huge tomes full of detailed drawings of arteries and muscles and bones that made Tom cringe, and lay on the grass, head on Tom's lap, where he would moan “Baby, I'm so exhausted.”, and Tom would gather his face in his hands and kiss his lips until he was moaning for another reason. 

There was also that: their nonexistent sex life. To tell the truth, Tom was not so impatient to have sex, blushing at the mention of it, or when Sarah -or even Emma, who at the time was already a pervert- called to say “Go easy on the sex, Tom, we still want you to walk.” But he was an explorer by nature, and as his and Chris' relationship lasted longer and longer, their kisses more and more heated, it got evident that they wanted to try something more. Yet, for all Tom's writhing in the sheets alone at night and touching himself to the memory of his boyfriend's body, when Chris massaged his waist and his hands slid lower Tom would flinch and back away, Chris murmuring apologies. 

For that reason, they had been well into their five-month anniversary when Tom finally let Chris feel him up. Just through his clothes first, carefully, and with the lights off. When he realized how amazing it was, Tom let Chris turn on the lights, blushing under his unwavering gaze as Chris rubbed him through his clothes and gave him his first orgasm. He had felt like retributing but Chris, his pants tented impossibly, had held his wrist and said it was okay, no pressuring you, baby. 

By the end of their first semester they grew more adventurous with their handjobs, and Tom even showed Chris his dick when he had asked once, which opened the doors to the exchange of bare handjobs, Chris going delirious at the feel of Tom's pale and fine fingers around his cock, Tom eyeing the member nervously. Chris was big and Tom knew that someday he'd have to literally face it and take it in his body, and though the thought of it sent shivers of fear down his spine, it also excited him to another level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And please, don't kill Elsa, she's not a bad person but I've always had it on my mind that she'd be a bit selfish, like, she wants what she wants and tends to ignore whatever gets in her way, I think.


	6. Chapter 6

They had agreed on starting on Monday. Chris asked him where would he prefer to go but Tom had no idea. He made a quick Google research and found that there was a good book exhibition going on in a charity center nearby. Chris agreed right away. Tom made himself a cup of tea and went to bed early. 

Chris had said that he would pick him up so they could get Henry together, so Tom took a shower and dressed himself, checking his pockets twice fot his wallet and cell phone, and sat down on his sofa to wait, feet bouncing. Not one minute later, Chris honked in front of his house, and Tom scurried to get up and lock the door behind him. 

He got into the passenger seat and clicked his seatbelt, running his hands over his legs. “Hey,” Chris saluted, one hand on the steering wheel as he looked at Tom.

“Hi.” Tom replied. “So, do you know the address?”

Chris drove off to the school and Tom watched the path ahead. “Yeah, it's near the hospital.”

Tom gulped and nodded. “Good.” 

“Everything okay?” Chris asked, glancing at him quickly before looking back at the road.

“Yes,” Tom smiled nervously. “Everything's fine.”

Chris nodded. “Good.” 

The drive was short, silent. Chris parked near the school gate and they exited to wait outside. There were already some other cars and parents, most waving at Chris, who smiled and waved back beside Tom. 

“Hey, Chris!” Someone shouted, and Tom saw that it was that girl, Lindsay. Chris waved back at her but not satisfied, she opened the gate and came over to them. “Hi, Chris. Oh, hey!” She said to Tom, who smiled awkwardly. “Chris, one of the kids said Henry had a pajamas party, that's so lovely!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Chris nodded and gave Tom a quick, awkward look, the latter looking down at his shoes as Lindsay rambled about that and that. 

Fortunately, the bell rang and the children exited the school, giving Tom something else to do. Henry spotted them quickly, but halted with his mouth open. Tom laughed and went to get him. 

“Papa?” He asked, looking at him as if he was a ghost.

Tom kissed his cheeks and hummed. “Yes, darling.”

“But- what-” Henry looked around and saw his father, nodding to Lindsay and excusing himself to walk toward them. “And dad-” 

Tom chuckled, and hugged his little chest to carry him over to Chris midway. 

“What happened, dad?” Henry asked, confused, his hands on Tom's shoulders.

Chris laughed. “Nothing, little boy, but me and papa are gonna take you out.”

“Really?” Henry smiled, and looked at Tom for confirmation, who nodded and kissed the top of his head. Henry shrieked, and Chris ruffled his hair, winking.

Tom fixed Henry on his chair at the backseat of the car, the boy flapping his hands excitedly. “Where are we going?”

“It's a surprise.” Tom said, and kissed his forehead for good measure. “But I think you'll like it.”

He turned to see that Chris was talking quietly to Scott's parents, hands in his pockets as the boy's father spoke. Tom licked his lips and leaned against the backseat door, waiting. Chris looked over his shoulder quickly and waved him over. Uncertain, Tom followed.

“Hi, Tom.” Scott's mother greeted, Tom smiling and greeting her in return. Chris looked at them confusedly.

“We've already met.” Tom explained. “Last week.”

Chris smiled, the half-moon smile. “Great. So you've met little Scott already?” He asked, and bent to caress Scott's head, the boy flashing a smile and ducking his head at the contact. 

“Yes,” Tom assured. “He's lovely, isn't he?” Scott's mother chuckled and looked pleased, proud, pulling Scott closer to her legs. 

Scott's father said something about how they were growing late for the church again and patted Chris' shoulder, saying his goodbyes to him and Tom. Sarah, the mother, waved shyly, and led Scott to their car.

“They're very nice people.” Tom said, as he and Chris went back to the car. 

“They are.” Chris repeated, and looked down, kicking a rock away. Tom had no way to confirm, but Chris looked a little sad.

~*~

Instead of silent, their ride was noisy, Henry talking from the backseat, sometimes shrieking in laughter when Chris slid his hand back to grab his little leg, tickiling his foot until Henry grew out of breath, pleading Tom to help him. After growing unaccustomed with their intimacy, Tom felt out of place, and could not make himself interfere. Chris, perhaps for noticing, immediately let go of Henry's leg and sent Tom a shy look. There was the only moment when the drive grew silent, Henry reccuperating his breath, immune to the stupid awkwardnesses. He went back to speaking non-stop and told Tom all about his pajamas party, and even invited him for his next one.

“Oh, darling, I don't know if I'd fit in.” Tom replied, leaning his head back on the seat to watch Henry through the rearview mirror.

“Of course you would, papa. You know Scott and my other friends are very nice, right dad?” He asked, Chris assuring that yes, they were. “Only Amanda let her juice spill on the carpet but dad said it was fine because Ammy could wash it out.” Ammy was their housekeeper. Tom was happy to know that she still worked for them, she was a very brave woman. 

Tom chuckled, and looked out the window. He dearly hoped this Amanda girl hadn't spilled her juice on the carpet that he had bought when they had moved to Chris' house. That thing had been a fortune, the only piece Tom could afford on a crazy auction that Sarah had forced him to take her at-the-time boyfriend to, using his absence to do 'something nice for him', which had Tom horrified after she sent him pictures of two lingeries and asked him which one would look better on her. Tom couldn't look neither in the face for a whole month. 

“I'm not sure, darling.” Tom said when Henry inquired him about his presence in the pajamas party again, Chris finding a slot to park his car in as they arrived. “Papa's a little old, don't you think?”

Henry pouted. “But dad is old too and he was there. You can stay with him if you don't like it.”

“Erm-” Tom gulped, blushing, unwittingly looking at Chris, who cleared his throat before looking at Henry through the rearview mirror. 

“Hold on there, you said I was old?” He asked with a mocking angry face.

Henry gaped and giggled, and held on to Tom when he took him out of his seat, Chris growling and pretending to bite his shins. 

~*~

The book exhibition was really good. There was a huge section for children's storybooks, which they promptly led Henry to, their son reading the titles aloud, so both Chris and Tom could nod and compliment him on his reading, the boy blushing and smiling happily. As Henry continued picking through the books avidly, Tom and Chris watched, resting against a bookshelf. 

“I hope he'll like reading.” Tom said.

“He will.” Chris replied, “I can feel it.”

Silence, Henry picking a book on My Little Pony. They watched as he let it go and got another, with a high relief monkey at the cover. 

“Erm, do you wanna see any book for youself?” Chris asked after scratching his beard. Tom noticed that it needed trimming. He used to do that for him when they were together, but only when Chris managed to convince him. 

Shrugging, Tom looked around. “Sure. Will you keep an eye out on Henry?”

“Of course.” 

Tom dodged some few other people at the exhibition and followed the literature section, where only a woman with square glasses ran her fingers over the covers. To tell the truth there wasn't really any book that Tom wanted but he figured he could give a look around, if only to leave for a second the silence that engulfed him and Chris. He found a slim book containing different tales of a French author he liked and bought it, gaining also a page marker with the charity center's logo on it. 

When he returned to the children's section he found Henry and Chris talking, Henry holding a book in his hands.

“What do you have there, darling?” Tom asked.

Henry beamed. “Papa, can I have this book?” He lifted the cover of a children-edition of Gulliver's Travels, tiny men the size of ants nailing a giant Gulliver into place colorfully, Henry's little fingers crinkling the plastic cover.

“Of course, darling.” Tom affirmed, and searched his wallet for cash.

“No, Tom, please.” Chris said, holding his hand to stop him.

Tom sighed. “Chris, don't do that. You paid for dinner the other day, it's just a book.”

Henry looked uncertainly between them. Chris looked like he wanted to say something else, but scratched the back of his head and sighed, smiling. “Alright, sorry.”

Tom smiled, and took Henry's hand so they could wait in line to pay. Chris came to stand beside them, and when Henry complained saying he was hungry, went to buy him a snack. When he returned with a small box of apple juice, Tom carried Henry at his hip, the boy talking quietly to him at his ear.

“Still inviting you to his next pajamas party?” Chris winked, shaking the juice box before attaching the straw, Henry reaching for it.

Tom chuckled and looked ahead. “No.” He didn't elaborate and in turn, Chris didn't say anything either. “Let's go, we've already paid.” 

They walked back to the car, the evening sky still clear. Henry slurped noisily at his straw and when he was done, pressed the empty carton against Tom's chest. 

“What do you say about dinner?” Chris asked when they were inside the car, putting on his seatbelt.

Tom paled. “You mean, like, now?”

Chris nodded. “Henry is hungry and I don't know about you, but so am I.” He looked over his shoulder to reverse the car and blew Henry a kiss at the backseat. “It would be quick and-”

“Chris.” Tom interrupted, licking his lips.

“We can split the bill, I swear.” Chris said, using that convincing voice of his, exiting the parking lot and giving Tom a quick look.

“I-” Tom replied. “I think it'd be better if we didn't.” He said, looking down at his lap. He couldn't go giving Chris the wrong impression. Besides, this was the first time they were trying this. It had to be slow. Chris looked somewhat disappointed, but he understood, and bit his lip, looking ahead, nodding. “If you could leave me at my house now I'd be very grateful.” Tom said, and tried a small smile.

Just some seconds of silence until Chris said “Sure.”, and smiled internally. He had noticed how Tom never called his house home.

~*~*~

On their first semester break, they had gone back to their town together. At that stage everyone already knew they were dating and on the first days Chris had gone to Tom's house for the family meeting; ever charming, he took one rose for Tom's mother and another two for Sarah and Emma, who still weren't over his beauty and blushed terribly to Tom's delight. They had talked briefly over the dinner table but the tension quickly dissolved until they were all talking excitedly and his mother and sisters threw Tom approving eyes. Chris had held Tom's hand under the table and the three of them pretended not to notice even though it was obvious, since Tom only ate with his right hand and Chris, only with his left. 

After Tom's family large approval, it had been Chris' turn to take Tom for dinner with his family. What he hadn't told Tom was that his whole family -including cousins, aunts, uncles, grandmas and grandpas- lived very close to each other and upon hearing of Chris' little boyfriend coming for dinner, showed up with huge dishes and desserts and made what was supposed to be a casual dinner into a sort of welcoming party. Tom had stood petrified at the doorway, in his nice jeans and a shirt borrowed from Chris, when they arrived and the whole family turned to see him, waving and greeting “Hi, Tom!”. It had been shocking, paralyzing and at the same time extremely delicious. Chris' relatives were affectionate, and approached him with more curiosity than hostility, filling his plate even if he insisted he had had enough, saying “No, you have to try this one, I made it especially for you.”, “My secret recipe.”, “Just a little bit, darling, do you like strawberries? Oh, allergies?” and “Aunt Ginny's meatloaf with her secret ingredient.”, which was accompanied by a wink and aunt Ginny herself passing on her wheelchairs to whisper on his ear that it was “Raw bacon.”, Tom coughing so much Chris had to get him a glass of water.

Liam and Luke had stood by a corner watching. Liam only approached him to clap his shoulders, smile, and say “Man, you and my brother. Man.”. Luke was also nice, but Tom didn't know why but he looked the most wary of them all, reserved and calm, saying “Nice to meet you, Tom.” and shaking his hand before standing by himself in silence. Chris' mother adored Tom, and cupped his face from time to time to whisper “Darling, I'm so happy to meet you. Does Chris take care of you alright?”, or when she said “Do you like his poems? He didn't give you any? Christopher!”.

Chris had blushed incredibly and gone “Please, mom, no.”

His mother had smiled and turned to Tom to tell him a secret that consisted of “He spent his whole summer break writing you poems, did you know that? He said you liked Shakespeare, right?” And turned to scream over her shoulder. “Mom, who was that man we knew that was an expertise on Shakespeare?” Tom had eyed Chris passionately and given him a peck that was promptly cooed by his grandmother.

After a discussion that lasted at least half an hour as everyone tried to remember the Shakespeare expertise that they knew, they had found out that such a man had never existed, but that Chris' grandfather had known a war veteran whose surname sounded faintly like it. 

All in all, it had been very nice, and Tom had a feeling that aunt Ginny took a liking to him, with the way she pinched his cheeks and kept running her fingers through his hair, saying “He's lovely, Chris. Look at his hair, it's beautiful.” Tom blushing and blinking over watery eyes, Chris noticing and giving him such a kiss he had to hide his face in shyness as everyone cooed. 

Chris had driven him home and said “I know they're a bit excentric bu-” at which point Tom just sweeped him up in a kiss and whispered “I love them.” and had told him to show up tomorrow in the afternoon when his mother was out working and Sarah had a dentist appointment. 

Still, they hadn't outwited Emma, who took herself into the role of chaperone and sat by the living room table with her laptop open and stretched her neck when she couldn't see their heads above the sofa, Chris lying between Tom's legs and sucking a giant bruise on his neck, his boyfriend resisting with gritted teeth. “I'm still here.” Emma had shouted, Tom using his hands that had previously been running up and down Chris' back to give her the finger. 

Tom had even guided Chris' hands to his ass, his boyfriend squeezing before recoiling, whispering on his ear that “Baby, I don't want to get a hard-on in front of your sister.” Tom, hot and wanting, had broken Woodley, his piggy bank, and slid all of his money in coins toward Emma, who looked at him with dollar signs in her eyes and went to buy new nail polishes, not before insisting that that only counted for two hours but that he could pay double if he wanted the rest of the afternoon. Tom, who loved a bargain, had shoved his hands inside Chris' back pockets, his boyfriend scared as he threw every dollar note he could find into Emma's hands, dragging him through the arm to his bedroom upstairs. 

Chris, eyes wide at Tom's transformation, bounced on his mattress once before Tom was up and humping him. They orgasmed inside his clothes like that, catching their breath before Tom was yanking Chris' shirt off of him to lick and kiss down his chest, Chris murmuring a series of “Baby, baby... Oh, shit, baby.” Encouraged, Tom had only stopped to drag Chris' jeans down, already feeling the curve of his cock under the material, sliding it to his knees before going back up and wrapping both hands around Chris' hardened cock. There was no way of forgetting it because it had been Tom's first time at giving blowjobs, much like every other first of his was with Chris. His boyfriend had insisted that he didn't have to if he didn't want to but it was clear that even he knew that there was no going back. Tom hadn't even been scared, he had looked at it and funnily enough had thought 'just think of it as a lollipop'. 

Until today Tom had no idea what demon had possessed him -Chris liked to call it 'the libido overdose'-, but of one thing he was sure, in that cold afternoon day he had sucked Chris' cock like a champ. 

~*~

Chris drove Tom home, and died not to at least kiss his cheek when they said goodbye. Tom exited the car and opened the backseat door to hug Henry, who asked “Can we do this again tomorrow?”.

Tom hummed, but whispered a diplomatic “We'll see.” before waving at Chris once more and entering his house, Chris only reversing the car when the door was completely shut. 

He drove them back home and checked on Henry through the rearview mirror, the boy running his hands over his new book on his lap. “Dad, why is he so big and the others so small?” He asked, pointing at Gulliver. 

Chris chuckled and shrugged. “People are different.” He parked the car on his garage when arriving, and went around to get Henry, carrying his backpack and book for him. 

The house was clean and upon opening the door Henry immediately ran to seat at the sofa and turn on the TV. Ammy was already gone and Chris had to heat dinner, his belly growling. 

“Henry, no eating at the sofa.” Chris said, carrying both their plates to the dining room and setting them over the table, Henry walking behind him, pouting. They ate while Henry talked about everything he had done in the day at school. He went back to the living room to retrieve his drawing and showed Chris, pointing at how he had improved his arms and legs, that now weren't just sticks, but a large circular shape. He asked Chris after his opinion and his father said “I like your new sense of perspective, the rectangular shapes and the purple trees really gave it-” He waved, inhaling profoundly, as an expert trying to find the words, “Life. Brilliant.” He finished, Henry beaming and collecting his drawing, asking his father when they would have the opportunity to show it to Tom. 

Chris hummed. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Really?” Henry asked, finishing his dinner and drinking his juice down with a loud slurp. 

Chris nodded, remembering Tom's little smile and the way his eyes flew around all the bookshelves. “I'll talk to him.”

After dinner, Henry asked him to play checkers, a game Chris' father was responsible for teaching him. He accepted, going for the most idiotic plays so Henry could win easily and not cry. 

“I won again, dad!” The boy shouted after Chris' third defeat, delighted.

“You're a master on checkers, Henry, what can I do?” Chris sighed, exaggerating on his loser role. 

“Wait until I tell grandpa.” Henry said, excited, rearranging the pieces to start a new game when he gasped, looking at Chris as if he had just remembered something. “Can I call him now?” 

Dying for a chance to escape yet another losing match, Chris laughed and dialed his father's number with quick fingers, handing Henry the phone. With his son talking to on the phone at the living room Chris took a shower and put on sweatpants and a dark shirt. On his way out of the bathroom he stared at the double bed, tidy and clean, empty. He went back to give Henry a bath and put him to bed, turning on his lampshade to settle him under the covers, Henry squirming until finding a good position, eyeing him curiously.

“Do you want dad to read the book for you?” Chris asked, pointing at the book Tom had bought for him, that Henry had hugged all the way up the stairs.

“No.” Henry shook his head.

“Oh, no?” Chris laughed, Henry smiling.

“No, I like when papa reads. His voice is nice.” He said, running a little fingertip over Chris' collar.

“Hm, it is, isn't it?” Chris asked, kissing his finger. “Do you like his voice?” Henry nodded quietly and slipped a hand between his cheek and the pillow, still running his finger over Chris' shirt. “I like his voice too.” Chris confessed. “And his eyes, and his hair. Do you like his hair too?” 

Henry giggled, “Yes, it looks like noodles.”

Chris laughed, throwing his head back and shutting his eyes. “Oh, but I'm going to tell him you said that!”

“No!” Henry shrieked, pulling his finger back when Chris made to bite it. “Why do you always try to bite me?” Henry asked, caressing his finger.

Chris hid his face in his neck and growled. “Because you're the cutest thing ever.” 

Henry giggled and tried to push him away. “Stop, your beard tickles.” Chris kissed his forehead and pulled back. He rose from his position at the edge of the bed and went to turn off the lights when Henry lay on his back and asked “Is papa still sad with you?”

Chris sighed and went to close his blinds. “No, sweetheart. I think he's not.”

Chris sat next to him again, and kissed his cheek goodnight when Henry whispered “I think he likes you.” 

Chris gulped, blinking quickly. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” Henry said, eyes already closing sleepily.

Chris went to bed and picked his cell phone, dialing Tom's number and sitting back against the headboard. It rang four times and Chris was about to hanp up, thinking Tom was asleep, when he answered with a low “Hello.”

“Hey,” Chris said. “I'm sorry, were you sleeping?”

“No.” Tom replied, and Chris could hear the rustle of his sheets as he moved. “Just reading. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything's fine. But Henry hasn't stopped pestering me all night about when we'll see you again.” He hoped Tom had paid close attention to the way he said 'we'. 

“Oh.” Tom mumbled. “Well, I don't know, I mean, we've just begun.”

“Yeah, yeah, you're right.” He cleared his throat. He knew Tom wouldn't be so willing to turn their encounters daily, but he wasn't afraid to ask. “But, you know, he wanted to show you his drawing...” Tom hummed in thought, and Chris seized the moment to ask “Do you think you could on Wednesday?”

“On Wednesday?” Tom asked, pensive.

“Yes, then when we were done I could drop you off, then you could keep Henry until Friday morning and we could repeat the same thing at the weekend before your play starts?”

Tom gave a breathy laugh. “Wow, you thought this all over, hm?”

Chris chuckled. “Yes.” 

“Uhm, alright, I think we could that.” 

“Really? Great.” Chris sighed. 

Tom hummed in assent, and there was another rustle before he said “Ok. Can you pick me at the same time you did today?”

“Sure.” Chris replied, happy. “Where would you prefer to go?”

“I don't know, you can pick the place.” Tom replied, a sound similar to a yawn. “Chris, I have to go to bed now. We'll see each other on Wednesday, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay. Good night.” 

“Night. Bye.” Chris hung up, sighed, and closed his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the... uhm, adult content of this chapter I had to change the rating to explicit as well as add some other tags. Beware, yes, our boys are really naughty.

Their break had been coming to an end, and yet all they had done had been exchanging blow jobs. Not that it wasn't good, the problem was that it wasn't enough. Tom knew that in a short while they would be going back to college and back with it would come their busy schedules and crazy exams, which wouldn't leave them with too much time to be occupied with their other... activities. At least not the activity they were interested in.

Tom didn't want their first time to be a quick fuck in his or Chris' dorm room, a place that held no meaning to them. That's why they had been out having ice cream with some friends from highschool when Tom slid inside Chris' arms to whisper in his ear: “I think our first time should be this Sunday, in your room.” Chris had choked on his blue ice cream, Tom having to pat his back so he could gain his breath back; luckily for them, everyone confused his red face for lack of air. 

That had been how he had ended up like this: Tom, in his black boxers, pacing around inside Chris' bathroom as he waited for his boyfriend to come back from the drugstore. Above the sink, the box containing large sized condoms rested, a sight that had Tom contorting his fingers, his stomach flopping in nervous agony. If only they had remembered the lube in the first place... They had thought about everything else. Chris' parents weren't home, only Liam was in his bedroom listening to loud music after Tom had nervously knocked on his door and stepped away to push Chris towards the doorway when his younger brother showed up, his boyfriend gulping and saying the excuse they had rehearsed: “Hey, Liam, I have this new cd and the musics are very good. Want to listen?” Liam had scratched the back of his head and frowned slightly, but slurred a “Sure, man.” And had let Chris hand him the cd. Tom, hidden at the end of the hallway, had given Chris that eye, his boyfriend knowing he was in trouble, immediately turning around to mutter a “Oh, and listen in a very high volume, alright? The recording is a little low.” 

They had gone back to Chris' room with collected euphory. 

“Did you get it?” Tom had asked, when Chris had deposited him on his mattress, sitting at its edge. 

“Yes.” Chris had said, extending a hand to his bedside drawer and producing the box of condoms he had bought earlier. 

Tom had nodded, licking his lips. “Okay.” He breathed out. “Okay.”

Chris had cupped his neck, bringing their foreheads together. “Do you want it?”

Tom had been slightly afraid, which was normal. Chris was older, more mature, more experienced, and certainly knew what to do. Tom was virgin, he didn't know much about sex, only the basics, but from what he could hint at when it came to the sensations Chris put him through when they would mess around, he had an idea that it would be fantastic. “Yes.” He had whispered, and clung to Chris' collar. “I do.”

They hadn't needed much encouragement, and with Chris' bedroom door locked, kissed until Chris' tongue felt more natural inside his mouth than not. Chris lay slowly on top of him, Tom naturally ceding the space between his legs, his hands resting on Chris' back, his head tilted as Chris kissed him deeply, both his hands on his neck. He could feel Chris' length hardening, his responding equally, his heels setting over the mattress as his legs spread, kness bent, Chris adjusting his body so they could grind, slowly, very slowly. This was how Tom had always wanted it to be like, careful, no hurry, perfect. 

When Chris had lowered his hand to cup a hipbone gently under his shirt, Tom's heart gave a light jump, and he took the liberty to run his own hands over the hem of Chris' shirt, the material bunching and exposing the small of his back, the base of his boyfriend's spine, where his fingers traced and went up, hand beneath his shirt. Chris groaned and bit his bottom lip, Tom wincing before Chris lapped at it gently, descending until he was mouthing at his earlobe, behind his ear, dipping to taste Tom's neck vein. 

Tom moaned, and when his boyfriend tugged at his shirt, arched his back and extended his arms, Chris letting the material fall at the floor, his back a sinuous curve as ground over Tom's crotch, their breaths growing short and rapid. Chris was quick to take his own shirt off, running his tongue over the row of Tom's teeth until their sharp edges glued to his memory, ducking to take a rosy nipple into his mouth, loving when Tom gave that loud moan and held the back of his head like he couldn't quite understand if he wanted him to stop or wanted him to burrow deeper. 

Tom, cock stiffened inside his pants, dragged his hands down Chris' backside, squeezing and giving a breathy laugh when Chris grunted, teeth pinching lightly at the edge of his nipple. Their grinding grew to a heated and quick pace and Tom did his best to calm Chris down. He knew that with the fog that had descended upon their senses it was difficult to realize that they were going too fast, and nudged a knee on Chris' side, interrupting their cacophony of moans and groans and hisses to say “Wait.”

Chris paused, giving him a curious stare, perhaps wondering if Tom was backing off. “We need to slow down.” Tom had said, his eyes going down to where their crotches were flush against one another, both their erections tenting their pants. Chris chuckled and nodded once before his eyes reverted back to Tom's nipples, licking his mouth before descending over them again, Tom groaning. “Chris, darling...” He called, when Chris had slipped his hand inside his pants, his hand heavy and decadently delicious around Tom's dick, his thumb pulling back the foreskin to tease at the slit. Tom missed Chris' mouth there, but could do nothing except moan and buck reflexively into his fist. Chris took his pants off with his other hand, falling back over Tom again, hand inside his boxers.

When Chris palmed at his balls and extended a finger to massage his perineum was that Tom flinched, suddenly remembering today's purpose. Chris, already excessively befriended to his nipples, had been breathing over his cheek and gave him a quick glance, as if afraid he didn't have Tom's permission anymore. But Tom nodded and shut his eyes, receiving Chris' mouth on his when his boyfriend squeezed a finger between his cheeks and drew a circle around Tom's hole, the sensation warm and extremely intimate, Tom moaning loudly, suddenly glad for having thought about giving Liam that damn cd other than relying solely on luck that Chris' younger brother would be sleeping. 

Chris tried to slip his finger inside but puffed when realizing they had forgotten the lube, his head bending to rest on Tom's chest, breathing ragged. 

“Baby,” he whispered, Tom at lost on why he had stopped. “Baby, we forgot the lube.”

“Shit.” Tom swore, suddenly feeling like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. 

“What now?” Chris asked, supporting himself on one elbow beside Tom's head, his finger still trapped between his cheeks. 

Tom huffed. “I don't know. Do people even have sex without it?”

“Well...” Chris began, Tom looking at him, already feeling he wouldn't like the answer. “It can be arranged but... I don't know, it'd be too painful for you, and for your first time too.” Chris shrugged. 

Tom winced. He definitely hadn't felt like doing that. “Well, at least the drugstore's still open.” Tom mumbled, and Chris turned frightened eyes to him.

“Baby, I'm hard.” He said, looking down at himself. Tom was going to tell him to try to hide it, but the erection was too visible. 

Tom bit his lip, his cock beginning to throb painfully. He shrugged, at lost on what to do. “Don't your parents have any in their room?”

Chris had opened his mouth and averted his eyes as if he might be considering it, but his brows furrowed slowly until he was full on frowning, making a face. Tom bit his lip in simpathy, yes, that would be weird; weird to know if they had it and even weirder to use it. Chris shook his head and sat up. “I'm going to the drugstore.” 

Tom had offered to give him a hand down there but Chris just shook his head and said “The faster I go the faster I come back.” When Tom had eyed him sweetly and elevated his hips so Chris could see how his own cock was in similar state of help, Chris had laughed and whispered a “Just think about my parents having lube, and we using it, or even worse, them finding out we have it after looking for it.”

“Eww.” Tom threw a pillow at his boyfriend's back, Chris having to tie his shoes outside after escaping. 

The problem, besides Tom's erection having flagged after Chris' atrocious words, was that Liam had wanted to talk to Chris, and came walking down the hallway to reach his door, Tom being quick enough just to hear his footsteps before getting the box of condomns and hiding inside Chris' bathroom. He had heard when Liam had opened the door and asked a quiet “Chris?” before apparently scanning the room and closing the door again. He wasn't supposed to know that Tom was there on his boxers, or suddenly Chris suspicious behavior of telling him to listen to music would make sense and Tom would die of embarassment.

So that had been how Tom had been reduced to a pacing bundle of nerves inside the bathroom. With Chris gone, his nervousness started growing back on him, when before he didn't have time to think about it, too overwhelmed with his boyfriend on top of him, now he was alone with a box of condoms made to fit a big cock that was going to go up his ass today. He had been suddenly faced with such a real... reality that he wanted to hide beneath the sink.

Chris took about ten minutes, time enough to have Tom almost ripping his hair out of his head. When he head opened the door and asked after him, Tom had opened the bathroom door slowly, peering up at Chris, standing at the doorway with a plastic bag containing a small bottle. Tom averted his eyes quickly and when Chris came to step in front of him, he seemed to sense something was off.

“Baby, what's wrong?” He asked, running his hand up Tom's cheek. Tom looked down and shook his head quietly, extending his hand. 

“Did you bring it?”

“Yeah, here.” Chris had taken the bottle from the plastic bag, handing it to Tom, who read the label, that promised the sensation of 'liquid silk' and a -Tom blushed- 'wet ride', 'destined to lovers who partake on anal sex'. 

Brilliant. Tom paced the bathroom with the bottle in hand, Chris waiting patiently at the doorway. “Tom,” He called, Tom paying him a quick glance over his shoulder. “You don't want to?”

Tom shivered, and took in a deep breath. “I do, it's just that-” He shook his head. “I'm a little nervous, that's all.”

Chris walked up to him, and with a gentle hand, lifted Tom's chin up to face him. “You know you don't have to, don't you? Not with me.”

“I know.” Tom blinked and smiled tightly before leaning in to give Chris a peck. “I know, darling.”

They went back to the bed, Chris taking out his clothes slowly while Tom sat at the edge of the bed and set the lube and condoms at the bedside table. Now there was nothing in their way. They had everything they needed. “Hey,” Chris said, sensing his unease and lying down on the bed, tugging Tom's body to lie next to his. “Don't get nervous on me now.” He kissed the tip of Tom's nose and watched, mesmerized, Tom's little hesitant smile. “You're scared?” He asked, concerned.

Tom shook his head, but took some time to find the words he needed. “It's not like that, I'm just-” He shrugged. “Unsure. Of myself.” His words pained Chris a little because there was nothing he wanted more in the word than to see Tom confidant on himself. He was beautiful, he deserved to parade that, not to hide himself. Tom lifted his hands between them, and looked pointedly at them. “I don't know what to do.”

“Just do what you've always done, baby.” Chris whispered, and took Tom's hands in his, the beads of light from the window illuminating their faces in the late afternoon. Tom had wanted them to go on like they were before, when what had only stopped them had been the lack of lubrification. He guessed that with the spare time he had second-guessed himself, and Chris must've felt it too, must've put all the puzzles together in his mind, must've understood Tom in a way no one ever had, not even himself, because Tom saw a deep determination in his eyes, and when he leaned forward to show Tom everything they could do together, he made him stop thinking. 

Chris' hands were gentle with him, like they always had been. They left a ghostly feeling after tracing his skin, like every part of Tom was not satisfied with being touched only once, like all of him wanted all of Chris to slide over him like Chris did, his body on top of Tom's as peppered kisses on his forehead and eyes, breathed out over his ear so Tom could feel the warm puff of breath leaving him and following the curves of his cartilage. 

Tom liked how he ran his hands up his sides, like Tom was a dog that needed to be stroked, an animal to be appeased. He liked how Chris thought about his comfort, how he slid his mouth over his nipples again, seemingly always thristy for the hard little nubs. He liked how he guided Tom's hands over his own body, letting him do his bit of exploration too, Tom laughing when his hands traced his boyfriend's biceps and Chris bulged them like a fighter showing off, how it made him bite his lip and how his cock twitched, Chris such a perfect statue, the gods' divine form. He liked how Chris made sure to swallow his length, teasing his slit and tasting the bead of precome that slipped out, Tom's cock hardening fully. He liked how Chris looked him in the eyes, no need to voice any question, and Tom was already nodding, reaching out to hand him the lube.

Chris stretched him lazily, one finger and Tom was blinking quickly and looking up at the ceiling, grunting briefly. Another and Tom took in a deep breath, Chris shushing him and kissing his collarbone, inserting his fingers slowly, first knuckle, second knuckle. Tom squirmed, the sensation weird. He knew it was sexual, but the only thing he could think about was how Chris was putting his fingers inside his ass and how it felt oddly intimate but also gross. Chris stretched him, his fingers moving in circles, scissoring him open. Tom gave a curt gasp and Chris recoiled to moisten his fingers with more lube. 

Outside, the sky darkened, and Tom had hald a mind to light the lampshade, their bodies being illuminated in faint golden light. Chris added a third finger and Tom whimpered, his hands fisting the duvet underneath. Chris paused, but Tom motioned for him to continue, his fingers thick inside him, slippery, stroking his walls and making Tom gasp, his chest heaving. He wasn't sure if it felt more good than bad or more bad than good, but that had been before Chris's fingers touched something that had him moaning and clenching, a spark of something wonderful that traveled up his spine and lighted his head.

Chris eyed him expectantly, pupils dilated, his skin glistening with sweat. His muscles were taut, watching him with some of reverence, Tom's back arching, his eyes shut, mouth rosy. He must've realized that it had been the best thing Tom had ever experienced, because he doubled his efforts and in no time Tom was spreading his legs wider, letting his boyfriend's fingers thrust inside him, moaning and gasping mutely. His cock stiffened again and Tom gripped the back of Chris' neck, keeping him in place, his mouth hovering over Tom's left nipple. 

When he felt he was about to burst, Tom nudged Chris's side with his feet, and reached to open the box of condoms, grabbing the foil packet and opening it with his teeth, Chris groaning and retrieving his fingers. Tom sat up to wrap the latex around Chris' girth, Chris looking down to watch, panting. He grabbed Tom by his inner thighs, that were glistening with excess lube, and brought him closer, his eyes frantic. “If you need me to stop, just say so.”

Tom gulped, and nodded tensely. His back was wet with sweat, and as he lay down, he could feel the duvet absorbing it. He frowned slightly, and once Chris was done lubricating his shaft, drew in a deep breath and shifted his gaze to the ceiling. His legs were jelly as Chris positioned him, folding his kness until they were almost touching his ears, lying between his legs and grunting. He tried to kiss Tom's mouth but ended up kissing his cheek as Tom shook his head and tried to get more air inside his lungs. 

“No need to be nervous, baby.” Chris assured. “Okay? No need. You tell me to stop and I do.” Tom nodded faintly, and blinked some tears away as he looked at the ceiling, already feeling Chris' hips shifting, the head of his cock meeting his hole.

Chris pushed in slowly, and Tom shut his eyes, biting his lip and whining, hands finding support on Chris' shoulders. It was weird, and hot. Chris' cock was warm, and as it tried to make its way inside Tom he could feel that it wouldn't go in as easily as Chris' fingers, the engorged head making his walls burn at the stretch. His eyes teared a little, and he blinked quickly, fixating his gaze on the ceiling. Chris pushed, the head finally slipping inside, and Tom clenched. 

Chris groaned above him, his expression so blissed out that Tom wondered if he really felt that good inside. But his muscles were tense, and try as he might, he couldn't relax, his heart beating against his ribcage as if it wanted to escape, Chris above him, the head of his cock lodged inside of him. “Baby,” Chris breathed. “You okay? You want some time?” Tom could listen to the apprehensive edge on his boyfriend's voice, and thought about how much it took him to ask him that question.

Tom breathed out slowly. “No, I- I think I can do it.” He tried to focus on the good things, on the contact of his and Chris' skin, the way his boyfriend slid his hands down his thighs and ass, how he bent to kiss his neck.

“You can.” Chris said. “I know you can.” He repeated. “You feel so good, baby. You feel- wonderful.” Tom gulped, and ran his hands down the expanse of Chris' back. He felt ridiculous, clenching like that, nervous. It was Chris, same old Chris, who kissed behind his ears and nuzzled his curls, the Chris that engulfed him in his hugs and whispered to him how beautiful he was. “Let me in, baby.” Chris whispered, peppering his jaw with moist kisses, Tom smiling. “Let me in.”

And Tom did. 

Chris was gentle, and when he pushed all the way inside, Tom threw his head back for how good it felt, the curve of his cock inside him, hot and branding. Once inside, Chris looked at Tom for his approval, and he was quick to nod. Chris started slow, but his cock slid in and out beautifully, Tom's head spinning to the side. 

“Fuck, baby-” Chris whispered, and drew his hips back only to nail them forward, Tom's vision going white, gasping loudly.

“Again.” Tom pleaded, back arched. “Again, darling... god, ah.” Chris hit that same spot over and over, encouraged by Tom's noises, growing from quick and breathy moans to loud and long ones. His face was hot as he imagined everyone in the neighborhood knowing that they were fornicating, and surprisingly, realised that he wasn't embarassed about it, instead, he felt a powerful aura around him, and smiled. “Hell yeah.”

Chris bit his shoulder, hips undulating. Tom didn't want his cock to ever get out of his ass but everytime it came back it sent a wave of pleasure all throughout his body. It was wonderful, and Tom felt like he was climbing the stars. They heard the sound of a car at the garage, Chris' mother had arrived. But instead of stopping, their fucking just grew more frantic, both looking down between them, where Chris' cock disappeared inside of him. 

It was strangely liberating, and so good Tom's toes curled. Chris' hands were firm on his hips, and he lapped at the curve of Tom's neck, his hand slipping to close around his cock, which rubbed against his abdomen. Tom moaned so loud that Chris had to hush him. It was too much, and Chris had to know it, because his hips slammed harder and harder, groaning and moaning on top of him. 

“God, Chris... Chris.” Tom pleaded, his legs bringing Chris closer. He needed him closer. 

“Come on, baby.” Chris encouraged. “Come on.” 

Tom whimpered, and when Chris met that spot inside him again, Tom froze, his spine arching off the mattress. He could only feel the hot cream of his come on his belly because his eyes were shut. He wanted to curl in on himself to chase that pleasure, and as Chris kept thrusting, his eyes rolled on its sockets and he dug his nails on Chris' back. It didn't take longer for Chris to come too, filling the condom, hot inside Tom. 

He pulled out, and for a moment they both lay there, gasping and trying to regain their breath. Chris rose to take the condom off, tying the end and throwing it at the bin in his bathroom. He returned to the bed and kissed Tom, bringing a towel to clean between his legs. Tom hummed and slid closer to him, and as Chris finished, they shared another kiss. “You can take a bath too.” Chris said, running a finger through Tom's cheek. “Did you like it?”

Tom chuckled, throwing a leg around Chris' hip. He ducked his head and whispered on his ear. “I loved it.” 

Chris laughed and kissed the top of his head. “Really?”

“Really.” Tom could still feel the aftershocks running through his body, and when he turned on his back, a delicious soreness came from his bottom. “When can we do it again?” He asked, Chris laughing so hard he had to hide his face in a pillow. 

Tom wanted to know who had invented something as good as sex. 

~*~

This time, Tom waited for Chris outside, dressed in comfortable jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. The disadvantage of leaving their destination for Chris to choose was that he had no idea what to wear, but knowing that Chris was a simple man unused to extravagant bouts, he had gone with the usual jeans and the usual shirt. His cell phone was inside his backpocket, where yesterday Elsa had messaged him once again, asking when he could introduce her to Chris. Tom had told her he would talk to him about it today, and just the prospect of it had him a little uneasy.

When Chris arrived, Tom ran to his car. He smiled to him shortly in lieu of a greeting and looked ahead as Chris drove away. 

“So,” Chris began. “You doing anything this Saturday?”

“Uhm,” Tom mumbled. “I actually had plans with Emma, she said we could grab lunch together and then do some shopping.”

“Oh.” Chris drummed his fingers on the sterring wheel lightly. “Sunday perhaps?”

Tom scratched his neck. “No, nothing.”

“Great. I was thinking about maybe taking Henry to the amusement park.” Chris said. “And you could come, that is, if you want to.”

“I see.” Tom played with his fingers. Henry had never been to an amusement park and Tom wanted to be a part of that memory. He only had the play Sunday but it was late at night. “Okay, I can go.”

“Wonderful, I'll pick you up at 10 am.” Chris said, and shot him a quick smile.

~*~

Henry was delighted to see Tom, and once in the car, stretched his arm out to show him his drawing. “Oh, darling, it's beautiful.” Tom praised, eyeing the purple trees and the boy he assumed to be Henry standing next to a lake. Chris shot him an amused look. 

“Thank you, papa. The teacher told us to imagine a landscape.” Henry supplied.

Tom hummed, and Henry began telling them about his day. “Where was Scott, Henry?” Chris asked after entering the downtown area.

“He had to go home earlier.” Henry explained, putting his drawing inside his backpack again.

Chris parked the car by a corner, and they exited the car. Tom looked around, recognizing the tall and ancient buildings around. There was a theatre where he performed once by the next block, and when he understood where Chris was leading them, he smiled. “The museum?” He asked, taking Henry's hand to lead them by the sidewalk.

Chris smiled over his shoulder and nodded, taking the other hand Henry extended to him. When they arrived at the lobby, Chris went to get their tickets, Tom letting him pay since he insisted. When he returned, he whispered to him “Henry likes dinosaurs.” 

It was a natural history museum, and they began by seeing the potteries and utensils of supposed nomads but Henry wasn't very interested on them. They found mummies and skeletons, a skull too big to belong to a human but too similar not to, Tom spending more time watching it. Next they went a dark room where a video detailed the movement of the continents throughout the eras, and Henry stepped up to watch it. 

Chris' cell phone vibrated and Tom startled. He checked the caller id and sent him an apologetic look before exiting the room to answer. The video came to an end and Henry looked around, grasping Tom's hand.

“Where's dad?” He asked.

“He went to answer a call, darling. Let's wait for him outside.” Tom tugged his hand and they exited the room, waiting to go see the next exhibition as Chris stood with his back to them, cell phone to his ear while he nodded. Tom checked his wrist watch quickly and bit his lip, but Chris hung up and came back to them with a hunched brow.

“Everything ok?” Tom asked, Henry swaying on his feet next to him to eye the high ceiling. 

“Yeah.” Chris pocketed his phone. “Just a patient.”

Tom nodded and they went to the animal exhibition, where a huge elephant stood next to a mammoth. Henry gasped and let go of Tom's hand, running to stand before the stuffed animals. 

“Look at that, dad, papa!” He pointed at the animals, his voice high. 

“I'm looking, darling.” Tom said, and went to run his hand over the mammoth's fur, Henry struggling to read what the information board explained. Chris had a hand on his pocket and his eyes fixed on his cell phone's screen, texting furiously single-handedly, brows furrowed. He didn't even seem to have noticed the animals or Henry's euphory. Tom watched but made no comment, and helped Henry read the board before he said something that Chris wouldn't like. 

“The...ele...phants...and...ma...m- mammu-” Henry tried to read. 

“Mammoths.” Tom completed, squatting down next to him. 

“Yeah, mammoths. Li...ved...in...diffe...rent...eras...but-” Tom looked over his shoulder at Chris, but seeing as he was in the same position, sighed and went back to helping Henry read, completing the words and explaining their meanings. 

There were other animals in the room and next they saw the crocodiles, aligators and snakes, but Henry was too scared of them and hid his face on Tom's legs. There were gorillas and tamarins, and what looked like a neanderthal, eyes wide on the fire he had started with a pile of twigs. There was a giraffe that Tom had to explain very carefully to Henry that no, he couldn't climb its neck. Chris followed them on a slower gait, but still with that damned cell phone. Tom sighed and showed Henry the turtles.

They finally arrived at the dinosaurs' room, a high and ample space, where huge bones were arranged together to form the extinct animals. Henry gasped at the doorway, and let go of Tom's hand to run inside. “Wow!” He screamed, pointing at the huge tyrannosaurus at the bottom of the room. “Papa, look, look!” He jumped. 

“Darling, it's huge.” Tom said, and Henry ran around the skeleton, neck bent to catch its full height. 

Henry looked enchanted, and Tom smiled, looking over his shoulder at Chris. “Chris.” He called, and Chris inclined his head just a little bit as if to show that he had heard, but he was still texting. “Chris.” Tom called again, firmer, and Chris promptly looked up. 

Tom watched him, and he was sure Chris could see how pissed off he was at him because Tom's face didn't hide anything. Silently, he took his own cell phone out and opened the camera app, giving it to Chris and going back to Henry, speaking over his shoulder. “Please, take a picture of us, would you?”

He picked Henry up and turned to face Chris, who raised the cell phone to take the picture dutifully, Tom and Henry smiling in front of the dinosaur. Chris lowered the phone and looked around until spotting a guard, standing by the end of the room in his uniform. He waved him over and Tom deposited Henry back on the floor. Chris approached them and he frowned, but noticed that the guard now had the cell phone and was waiting for them.

“He can take a picture of us.” Chris whispered, and Tom nodded quietly. Henry yelped when Chris picked him, but beamed at the camera, both his parents standing beside him. The guard took the picture and handed Chris the phone back. 

They stood in awkward silence as Henry runned around the dinosaur. 

Chris scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat. “I'm sorry.” He said, tilting his head toward where he had been before. “Back there. It was-” He sighed. “A pat-”

“A patient, yes, I know.” Tom cut, unimpressed. He dearly hoped he wasn't pouting as he stared at the ground, but he could feel his own lips pursing. Henry said something, the sound amplified by the largeness of the room. Tom went after him, feeling Chris' shadow following.

He tried to improve his own mood, focusing on Henry and his laughter and his smile, but he was still a little moody. After they had taken pictures and read all the information boards on all the dinosaurs for Henry, they exited the museum, Chris buying their son some souvenirs from the shop. 

“Tom,” Chris said when they were walking down the sidewalk. “There's a restaurant nearby.” He motioned with his head in the direction of the supposed restaurant. Tom made a face and tried to think of an excuse, but he wasn't quick enough. “Look, it's my apology for earlier.” Chris said, sincere. “And Henry is so happy.” They looked back at Henry, hand clasped in Chris', inspecting the toy map Chris had given to him. 

Tom shifted his weight, uncertain. He was hungry, and if the restaurant was as close as Chris said. “Alright.” He sighed, and Chris smiled as he led the way.

“You'll love it, I promise.” 

~*~

The place was more like an old-fashioned cafe, but it was a familiar environment and there were few patrons in it. Henry insisted on taking the seat beside the window, and Tom slid beside him, Chris taking the seat across them. They were promptly served by a waiter, Tom choosing a junior dish for Henry while Chris ordered a steak for them. 

Henry engaged them in a roleplay featuring all the stuffed dinosaurs Chris had bought for him. 

“Papa, you're this one.” He gave Tom a purple pterodactyl. “And dad is this one.” He gave Chris the tyrannosaurus. 

“And which one are you?” Chris asked, Henry grabbing a small dinosaur and putting it betweem theirs.

“I'm the baby.” He said, eyes fixated on the toys, taking the play seriously.

Chris wiggled his eyebrows at Tom, who suppressed a laugh. Henry carried them through a nonsensical plot until their food arrived. Tom had to gently pry his fingers away from the toy as he tried to share his food with it, dipping its head in his juice.

“No, darling.” Tom pleaded. 

“He's thristy, papa.” 

“Yes, but he doesn't like juice.” 

Henry didn't let go. “Then what does he like?”

Chris finished chewing his steak to answer. “Blood.”

“Eww.” Henry moaned, face scrunching up. He threw his head back and laughed, that throathy laugh that Tom used to record when he was a baby and Tom bit his feet. Tom watched Henry with open bliss, not noticing Chris' eyes on him. 

Once finished, they leaned over the table where Chris rested his cell phone, finger sliding over the screen so they could see the pictures they had taken on the museum. There was one where Chris and Henry were touching the dinosaurs' bones, both with guilty expressions and a finger over their lips, next to them was a board with the words 'please, do not touch the fossil replica'. But what truly had them laughing so hard that the waiter gave them worried eyes was when Chris showed them a picture he had taken, zooming on in the background, where the guard stood, back to them, hand scratching his ass.

“Can we have dessert?” Henry asked once they had calmed down. 

“Sure.” said Chris, and together he and Henry chose a strawberry milkshake. The waiter brought it along with three straws, and Tom smiled brightly when they all ducked their heads to suck the cool liquid. Henry hummed, and Chris smirked around his straw. They looked at each other with crinkled eyes, like they were the keepers of a great secret, and Tom didn't remember feeling so happy and free in a while. 

They were waiting for the check to arrive and Henry leaned his head against Tom's side, who smiled and leaned to clean his lips with a napkin. He smirked and looked up, right in time to catch Chris lowering his cell phone.

“Sorry.” Chris apologized sheepishly. “It was just a picture.”

Tom didn't really mind, and let it pass. They split the check and went back to the car. 

The night had already settled, painting the sky a dark shade of blue. The drive to Tom's house was comfortably silent, and he looked at the backseat to see that Henry was sleeping in his seat, his hands full of souvenirs.

“He loved it.” Chris muttered, watching their son through the rearview mirror. Tom smiled faintly and looked out the window.

~*~

“Careful.” Tom warned, walking ahead of Chris to open the door. Henry was sleeping like a rock and Chris had offered to take him inside. Tom switched the lights on and guided him through the living room, Chris looking around curiously, never been invited to Tom's new house since their divorce. “This way.” Tom said, and led him to the hallway, opening the door to his bedroom, his sheets mussed up. He walked inside and tried to arrange them, feeling weirdly embarassed for that Chris had seen it. But if his ex-husband had some opinion about it, he didn't voice it, and deposited Henry on the mattress.

“The child is delivered, sir.” Chris said, wiping his hands. 

“Thanks.” Tom laughed, and while Chris went back to get Henry's things in the car, Tom stood at the doorway and bit his lip. Today had been really good. Save for Chris' distraction at the museum. Tom avoided thinking about it because he was not a bitter person, and he knew that Chris was a busy man.

His ex-husband came back with Henry's things and gave a small smile, his eyes darting around the house. They stood in front of each other on Tom's living room like that, probably thinking about what to say next or how to say goodbye in a way that wouldn't be too awkward for them. 

“I'm r-”

“Do you want to stay for tea?” Tom asked, swallowing forcefully. What the hell? He didn't know where that had come from. Chris apparently didn't either, with the way his brows furrowed confusedly. “I mean, I always make some tea before going to bed or before reading-”

“I know.” Chris whispered, blinking slowly.

Tom nodded for lack of anything better to do, and shrugged. “I can make some now and... I don't know, we can drink it, that is, if you don't have anything to do now and-” He licked his lips. “And if you'd like it.”

“I would.” Chris confirmed, still speaking slowly, as if Tom was creature that could be spooked and run away. “I would like it.”

“Right.” Tom hummed, and gave a quick smile. “I'll just-” He pointed to the direction of his kitchen. “I'll just set the water to boil. Uhm, you can wait here.” Tom offered, walking to his little dining table, shoving his books and his script out of the way to make room for their tea. 

Chris sat and helped him, looking up at Tom with those blue eyes. Tom stared for two seconds, gulping and turning around before he could do something else he shouldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, let me know if there any typos or anything wrong. Thanks for reading :3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Warning for... well, you'll know, it's a kink, but you can skip it if you don't feel comfortable.

"So, uhm...” Tom began, not really knowing how to squeeze in a topic that consisted of 'my friend wants to meet you because she says you're hot' in a conversation with his ex-husband. He didn't know why he had chosen to put himself under such a circumstance when he could've just asked through telephone or email or any virtual communication tool that wouldn't have Chris staring at his face while he blushed like a schoolgirl. He settled for “How has it been?”

Chris, elbow above the table, grinned. “Good. Nothing to complain.”

Tom nodded, eyes falling to his mug, and he brought it over to his lips to sip the hot liquid. 

“Listen, Tom,” said Chris, staring him right in the eyes. “I'm really sorry about earlier, at the museum.” 

“Oh.” Tom muttered, and now hugged his mug with both hands. “You mean that time when you...?”

“Yeah. That's what I mean.” Chris stared at his own mug, with Donald Duck on it. Tom was mulling over what he should say next to finally introduce the desired topic of Elsa, but Chris shifted on his seat and looked up at him. “It's very complicated. But you know Scott?” Tom nodded. “He has a little sister, three year old girl and...” Chris let out a breath in the form of a puff and Tom knew that face. It was the face Chris would get when he'd tell something about his job, a terminal case, a blind child, any patient of his that somehow touched him. “She has this disease that-” He shook his head. “It's a genetic disease, that causes her to have low cholesterol levels in her blood.”

Tom watched him, blinking slowly and licking his lips. “Doesn't it have a treatment?”

Chris shook his head, still staring at the tabletop. “Most die young. She probably has more two or three years.”

“Oh my god.” Tom muttered, shocked. That little boy, their son's best friend, would lose his little sister so early. 

Chris nodded, and took the first sip of his tea. “I can give her esterases and diminish some of the major problems.” He shrugged. “But she gets heart attacks some times, and her parents don't know what to do, so I usually help them.”

Tom watched the white strings of smoke that rose from his mug. “Was that what happened today?” Chris nodded meekly, and Tom felt his heart constricting. “Oh my god, Chris, I'm so sorry. I had no idea, you should've gone to them.” Chris just shrugged, and took a sip of his tea. Tom knew he wasn't particularly fond of the drink, so he appreciated the effort. “Is she okay at least?”, he asked.

“Yeah.” Chris said. “They said she's fine now.” 

Tom nodded, and while Chris was busy trying to drink the tea, he seized the moment. “Could you drop me off at the theatre this Sunday, when we get back from the amusement park?” 

Chris seemed a little surprised at the change of topics, but smiled and scratched the back of his head. “Oh, sure.”

“And there's...” Tom took another sip of tea for courage. “There's someone in there that I'd like you to meet.”

“Really?” Chris frowned lightly, and shrugged. “Okay.” He didn't look intrigued or bothered by Tom's request, instead, he looked happy and alleviated, as if pleasantly surprised that Tom had remembered him.

Tom, for his part, felt a huge weight being taken from his shoulders. Now Elsa would stop pestering him. 

They drank their teas in silence, exchanging a few words quietly about Chris' job, and how both their families were faring. 

The night's temperature fell a few degrees and already Tom could tell that tomorrow would be a cold day. He curled his toes inside his socks and asked Chris if he wanted to check on Henry for a last time before going. Chris promptly accepted, and together, they stood by the doorframe and watched the boy's sleeping form. His little fingers were twitching and Tom slid next to him on the bed to gather the covers over his body. Chris sat at the edge of the bed and leaned to kiss Henry's cheek, Tom blushing and recoiling slightly, Chris' kiss so close to his own face. 

Tom patted Henry's rump over the covers and rose. “Come on, I'll see you out.”

Chris ran his hand through Henry's hair one last time and followed Tom to the door. The air was cold outside, and Tom crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the door frame. Chris turned to say goodbye, and for a moment he stiffened, imagining he would kiss his cheek. But Chris just patted his arm, and said a little “Goodnight, Tom, see you Sunday.”, and walked back to his car. 

~*~*~

Their return to college had been with stifled grins and knowing smirks. Tom had this rosy complexion all the time and Chris treated him like he was some sort of delicate porcelain. Tom had to bat his hands away when he tried to assist him down the stairs, his bottom sore. Leonie, who had been at the kitchen, gave them a curious gaze and hid her smile, clearing her throat and asking Tom if he'd like to stay for dinner. 

Chris drove them to campus the next day, patting his thigh every once in awhile. They went back to their routine of classes and exams, being able to maintain their sacred Wednesdays. The best part had been when Tom's room mate graduated and he had the dorm all to himself until someone else was designated. Chris would come over and they would play video games, push the beds together and have sex until they were too tired to get up again. When they weren't studying, they were fucking, and when they weren't studying neither fucking, they were going to parties, an event that Tom enjoyed more now that he had Chris for company. 

Tom liked Chris' friend's parties, they usually didn't involve too much alcohol and his friends were classy but relaxed. They used to play cards while drinking pints but always discussed current topics until becoming too drunk and moving to the dance floor. Tom's friend's parties were more extreme, and despite Tom's friend's hospitable aura, Chris was surprisingly shy around them, which amused Tom to no end. On such occasions, Tom took the reins and fulfilled the role of the outgoing boyfriend. 

And there was this memory that Chris would never forget: 

It had been a Saturday, and they had gone to another of Tom's friend's party, a pub on campus that used to house them it in exchange of a low stipend. Tom dragged Chris inside by the hand, both already a little tipsy, having returned from another party. The place was full, students lining the booths, holding their drinks and talking to each other. Tom knew some of them, and they were immediately ushered to a table, where Tom was promptly greeted by his friends. They sat beside each other and Chris smiled, nodding along as Tom introduced him to some of his friends whom he had never met before. 

A girl gave them drinks and disappeared amidst the crowd. Tom talked excitedly to his friends, his face so open, his cheeks dimpling. He was so beautiful, so free; and Chris leaned back to watch him, squeezing his hand beneath the table and letting him have this, letting him talk to his friends, enjoy himself. 

There was a small stage at the corner of the room, and some people risked singing on the karaoke. Chris took another sip of his drink, and when Tom let go of his hand to lean over the table and gesticulate wildly to a friend of his, Chris was comfortable to just slide his arm over the back of his boyfriend's seat. It wasn't exactly awful, but what could've been worse was remedied by Chris watching Tom have fun. A girl with wild black hair even began talking to him, but Chris' heart was not really in the conversation.

Tom, laughing beside him, sent them a quick look over his shoulder, his cheeks flaming red, undoubtedly already more than tipsy. Chris winked his way, listening to what the girl was saying with only one ear. Tom smiled, his lips rosy and shiny. He took a quick sip of his drink and caught Chris by surprise when he immediately after grabbed the back of his neck and turned his head abruptly, locking their mouths together in a heated kiss. 

Chris, who was the most sober out of the both of them, had the decency to blush as Tom's friends cheered. The girl instantly left Chris' side, Tom's eyes glinting maliciously as they parted, leaning against Chris' shoulder and reaching for his drink again. Chris was a little dumbfounded, but said nothing.

A man who had also apparently drank enough, crouched next to Tom and beckoned him over, whispering something on his boyfriend's ear. Chris frowned, but Tom didn't look bothered, and Chris remembered the man as being one of his boyfriend's close friends, so he watched them curiously when Tom nodded excitedly.

“Hold on, darling, I'll be right back.” He said, landing a noisy kiss on Chris' cheek before standing up and out of his seat. 

Chris frowned, “Tom?” But his boyfriend walked away, following his friend amidst the crowd. Chris was left there, looking around as Tom's friends talked amongst themselves, sipping drinks and making out. It was a little weird, but Chris scratched the back of his head and tried not to make much of it, keeping an eye out for a head of blond curls should it appear.

Chris was beginning to grow worried. His glass had already been refilled twice and still, nothing of Tom. The guy that was seated across him finally pulled him into a conversation that did not involve dramatic arts and Chris for once could actually discuss something without sounding dumb. Three people were shouting over the microphones, trying to sound like Whitney Houston and just almost giving everyone in the room a headache. Chris was thinking about getting up and begin looking for Tom when the music ended, the three people walking down the stage. Two girls who looked about to throw up tried to go up and sing but someone stopped them, saying something that Chris couldn't hear.

It was silent for a whole minute and Chris' talk with the guy was getting to an end when the music returned, a sensual but sophisticated beat that reminded him of the Pink Panther's theme. Chris groaned and looked down to check the time on his wrist watch when suddenly everyone screamed and clapped. He looked up quickly, only to end up staring at the most terribly sexy thing he had ever seen. 

There were three boys on the stage, with their backs to the public, snapping fingers and wriggling their hips, wearing pretty much nothing. 

One of them was Tom. Of course. Chris would recognise that head of blond curls anywhere. 

His mouth hung open, and he didn't know what to assimilate first; Tom was wearing white stockings, okay; white straps too, no problem; a white skirt, lacy, short, nice; high heels, wow. Then they started singing. Chris had never seen or heard of it, but apparently it was a musical, and everyone slurred down the words to the song along with them. A pause and they turned around to face the crowd, and Chris' crotch boiled. Tom was wearing mascara, and red lipstick. Fuck. And a bra that matched his skirt. Well. 

They danced and everyone clapped, and Chris couldn't take his eyes away. He had never seen something so sinful in his whole life. The fact that his boyfriend was possibly drunk, at a stage and pretty much in drag didn't register in his mind. He was incredibly confused and aroused and a thousand other things that as a result left him blushing and panting. Tom had transformed into this uninhibited, sassy, perty little thing and Chris was in love. He was perfect.

And he was walking down the stairs that led to the small stage and his eyes and fuck, he was coming his way. Chris could only feel his face flaming when Tom approached him, sliding his hands over his shoulders and still singing. Around them his friends screamed louder, and Chris didn't know where to look at. Tom swayed his hips to the music, singing on such a lovely voice. Chris just wanted to grab him and run away. On a crescendo he turned his body and sat on Chris' lap, the crowd cheering. 

Chris froze, and looked down at Tom's thighs, so soft-looking, lean, encased on that white cloth. He wanted to run his hands over it, but they were in public and his brain had short-circuited. Tom wound his arms around his neck, finishing the song on a high note, his eyes shut, Chris' ears ringing. 

He finished and the drunk crowd erupted in cheers and screams, Chris immobile under him, all of his blood having gone to his head and his groin. Tom bowed as best as he could on his lap, blowing a kiss to the crowd and screaming “Thank you, thank you!”

On any other situation Chris would've stopped him, but Tom looked so happy. Even though he probably wouldn't leave his room for days in shame that he had actually sung and danced in lingerie in front of a crowd consisting of his whole department. Of course he wouldn't notice what Chris had always known: Tom was a star, he carried a light with him that Chris couldn't help but be attracted to. 

Afterwards, someone showed up with more drinks and Tom relaxed against Chris' chest, who still hadn't been able to form a single word. He talked and laughed with his friends once more and it wasn't until he buried his face on Chris' collar that he looked down. Tom had on the prettiest blush and he looked up at Chris from under his eyelashes. “Did you like it?” He asked, quiet.

“Baby,” Chris whispered. “My brain has turned into jelly.”

Tom giggled and nipped his jaw. Chris wound his arms around him and the palm of his hand accidentally touched the material of his stockings. He startled and Tom winked, sliding closer over his lap, his eyes impossibly flirty. They had to get away from here. Now. Chris was certain Tom could feel his erection this close up. 

“I think we should go.” Chris started, clearing his throat and looking around for the exit.

Tom hummed on his lap, his breaths warm next to Chris' face. His boyfriend clasped the back of his neck and leaned closer to whisper “I want you to fuck me.”, his breath smelling of alcohol. 

Chris' groin tightened. “Shit, baby.” He slid on his seat, Tom clinging tighter to him. Tom's friends did not even seem to notice them moving. 

“Will you?” Tom asked, eyes shut, rolling his hips once.

Chris gasped. God, they needed a room. Now. “I will, baby, I will. I promise.”

On their feet, Chris pulled Tom's hand over to the exit, but his boyfriend resisted. Hissing, frustrated, his cock throbbing, Chris watched as Tom spun around, all giggling horniness. “The bathroom.” He whispered, pulling Chris' wrist as he walked backwards to a direction Chris could only assume the bathroom was at. 

The daring proposition only had Chris faltering for a second. Everyone was drunk and a couple fucking on a bathroom stall in a party was no news to anyone. He followed Tom, watching the swing of his hips inside that tiny lace skirt. He didn't know who the fantasy belonged to but they were getting one just like that. That is, if by the time they were done Chris hadn't already ruined the thing. 

Chris dragged Tom into a stall, the bathroom empty save for someone who was soundly retching at the sinks. Definitely not the ambience Chris would prefer to fuck his sweet boyfriend in, but as it was they weren't left with much choice. 

In less than one second they were glued to each other, Chris pressing Tom to the door, hurriedly clicking the lock shut. Tom gave a low whine and panted on his ear, Chris securing his trim waist and attaching himself to his neck. He tasted sweet and sweaty, salty and perfect. 

“Darling,” Tom breathed, and ground his erection over Chris', his boyfriend groaning. Chris bit down hard, and Tom yelped, managing a short laugh before Chris had the back of his thighs on a firm grip and lifted him up. With his stockinged legs around his waist, Chris ran his hands over the material, squeezing Tom's supple flesh. “Yes...” Tom hissed, throwing his head back and showing off the dark red mark Chris had left on his throat. “Yes, darling... Come on.”

Grunting, Chris hastily undid his zipper, his pants sliding down to his knees. He bent to kiss Tom's collarbone, the friction of the soft material of his boyfriend's skirt against his engorged member making him see stars. 

“Kiss me, kiss me.” Tom begged, and Chris happily complied, their kiss moist and full of tongue, feeling the smear of what could only be lipstick clinging to his own lips. 

With no lube or protection, they made do, Tom swallowing Chris' fingers with too much satisfaction, eyeing him teasingly all the while. 

“Is that what you want, baby? Hm?” Chris teased, bringing his other hand down to push what felt like a panty aside, his cock finding the inviting curve of Tom's ass. Tom blinked lazily, and Chris assumed that was his way of saying yes. “Do you want my fingers stuffed in you? Do you?” Tom moaned around his fingers, his lips stained with smeared lipstick.

Impatient, Chris took his fingers out and pressed them against Tom's entrance. His boyfriend arched his back and whimpered, but widened his legs as best as he could to allow Chris passage. 

Three fingers later, Tom held onto Chris' shoulders, rolling his hips down, truly debauched. His cock was hard, and tented the skirt lovingly. Chris groaned and kissed him, only pulling back to spit on his palm and fist his cock hurriedly, Tom whining and moaning at the loss. 

Quickly, Chris retrieved his fingers and aligned his cock with Tom's hole, and on a fast movement, pushed.

“Yes! Yes!” Tom shouted, his legs tightening around Chris' waist. Chris found support on the door's upper part, and biting his lip, thrust over and over. Tom helped, his hips rolling to meet his, his skirt bouncing with the movement. Chris had found it so damn erotic. Thrusts quickening, Tom gasped and moaned, so vocal in his appreciation. 

They had fucked without a condom before, but Chris had found he always missed the way Tom's walls felt around his cock, so hot and tight. Sweat sprouting on his forehead and sliding down his back, Chris could do nothing but groan and slide home repeatedly, Tom's noises so loud and sinful, the door banging on its hinges rhytmically that he could swear someone opened the door to the bathroom but quickly shut it, a faraway voice saying “God, get a room.” 

Three thrusts that reached Tom's prostate precisely were all it took for his boyfriend to reach his peak, gripping Chris' shoulders hard, voice broken as he moaned, walls clenching around Chris' girth, who could do nothing other than hold on and hiss. 

Tom, as always, wasn't egoistic, and even though oversensitized, panted heavily and watched as Chris' thrust inside him until his balls drew tight, a hot wave spilling inside Tom. 

Their bodies gave out, and they fell to the floor. They stared at each other curiously, trying to regain their breath, and after Chris slid out, Tom blinked owlishly at him before bending over with laughter.

“What? What is it?” Chris asked amidst his own short chuckles. Tom shook his head and only proceeded to laugh harder. Chris joined him for the time it took before Tom's spine straightened and he pinched his eyebrows, leaning quickly and throwing up all over Chris' chest. 

~*~

Saturday came with a clear sky and Tom had only just finished showering when the doorbell rang. Emma. 

He pulled on some jeans and a white shirt to open the door, his sister smiling quickly before tapping the visor of her wrist watch pointedly. “We're late.”

Tom sighed, and checked that everything was turned off and well before turning to lock the door. “Well, you're late.” 

“I'm allowed to be late, I'm your ride.” She replied, pouting. Tom tried to see the reason on that but failed and just waved it away.

They got into Emma's car, a small and red thing that smelled like fennel inside. “Henry is with Chris?” His sister started by asking, turning the ignition on and driving away. 

“Yes.” Tom looked out the window in hopes to discourage her from asking any more questions, but Emma was persistent. 

“So,” she shifted gears. “Amusement park tomorrow...” And wiggled her eyebrows.

Tom turned his head quickly. “How do you know that?” Emma smirked but before she could answer he rolled his eyes. “Oh god, he really does tell you everything, doesn't he?”

Emma shrugged, as if it couldn't be helped. “He's lonely too, Tom.” 

Tom huffed. “Lonely? He's anything but.” Chris had a huge family, friends and a bunch of love interests, Tom was sure. He wasn't lonely.

Emma opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but frowned and gave up. Using her distraction, Tom introduced another topic. “And mom, how is she doing?”

“Fine. Her garden looks like a jungle now, and she's been wondering when you can take Henry to see her.” 

Tom twisted his lips. Difficult. “I don't know.” He'd have to talk to Chris. That suddenly had him remembering how he'd have to introduce him to Elsa tomorrow, and Tom's face closed off. 

“What is it?” Emma asked, sparing him a quick glance before honking to the car in front of them. Tom didn't know why he had let her drive. “Come on, it doesn't smell that bad.” She said, tapping the leaf-shaped thing that let out the fennel smell, hanging from her rear-view mirror. 

“It's not the smell.” Tom replied, hands in his pockets.

“Then what is it?” She insisted, but Tom said nothing.

~*~

He knew it was useless, Emma could sense new information like she had been born with a sixth sense. Tom was able to hold it until they had arrived at the mall and chosen a restaurant, but when she threatened to spill her water bottle on his face, he had to tell her everything about Elsa.

“What a bitch!” She said, loudly. Tom widened his eyes and looked around to make sure that not too many people had heard.

“Emma!” He chastised. “Don't say that.”

“Why not? It's true.” His sister replied, brows low. “She doesn't have the right, Tom.”

“Yes, she does.” He insisted. A waiter showed up, eyeing them weirdly, and Tom was quick to ask for their drinks and dishes. The man went away and Tom adjusted his napkin on his lap. “She's a normal, single woman, and Chris is a normal, single man.”

“Yes, but he's also your ex-husband. I thought she was your friend.” Emma insisted, though now on a more normal volume. 

“She is my friend, but you're confusing things.” The waiter came back with their drinks, iced tea. Tom took a quick sip and waited until the man had gone away to continue. “It doesn't mean that she can't...” He swallowed. “Can't...”

“Fuck your ex?” Emma supplied, rather unhelpfully. Tom's discomfort with the matter only grew, feeling that deep angst again. “Listen, Tom, I know what you mean. I'm not saying they can't engage on a relationship or whatever. Chris is bi, that's all fine.” Tom swallowed, imagining them. “But as your friend, I don't know, I feel like she'd need to ask you beforehand if you'd be comfortable with it.” Tom looked down at the tabletop, thinking. 

After some minutes of silence, Emma scrolling down her cell phone, the waiter came back with their food. They ate quietly for a while, until Emma shot him a look and grinned slyly. “I think you're worrying yourself over nothing.” When he looked up at her in question, his sister shrugged. “You're taking it for granted. We don't know if Chris will actually like her. I, for one, think he's not interested on anyone like that right now.” Tom frowned, chewing slowly. “Chris is a man with a type, you know,” Emma continued, and her knowing smile should've been enough to alert Tom. “He likes blue-eyed,” She said, slowly, “Curly-haired blonds-”

“Emma.” He tried to interrupt, feeling his cheeks warming. 

“That love Shakespeare, and theatre, and that share something with him...” Emma looked up as if in thought. “I don't know, something like perhaps a child, a five-year old boy is my guess.”

Tom sighed and stared down at the tabletop. He honestly didn't know why he was so bothered with what Emma was saying. He figured it was just something he didn't wish to believe in. To think that Chris still felt like that for him, and he... It would be putting too much at stake, risking too much. He couldn't go back. 

He shut his eyes and gulped. “Emma, me and-”

“I'm sorry.” Emma cut him off, and he opened his eyes to see that for the first time she really looked it. “I'm so sorry, Tom. It was stupid of me. I don't know why I said that.” She shook her head slightly, and Tom was a little taken aback because she looked sad. Emma never looked sad. “I'm sorry.” She repeated, and Tom nodded curtly. 

Silence. They finished their food and stared at one another quietly. Emma's face was serious and she searched his face, trying to find something that he was hiding from her. His sister looked down but quickly set her eyes on him again, and swallowed before asking “You will never forgive him, will you?”

The question caught Tom by surprise, and his mouth was faster to open than his brain to think. “I already did.”

He could tell the exact movement of Emma's eyes as they widened, very slowly, as if she couldn't believe what she had heard and was still waiting for Tom to reiterate. “What?”

Tom sighed and looked away, at the innocent passersby streaming through the mall. Emma grabbed his hand over the table to get his attention. “Tom, what did you say? You gotta tell me.”

“It's not- really, Emma...” He tried to pull his hand back but she had it in a firm grasp and was looking at him as if he was about to spill the lottery numbers. 

“What did you say, Thomas?” 

“You heard what I said.” He replied, meeting her eyes. 

“You forgave him?” She asked, slowly, to make sure he understood every word. Tom nodded and looked away once more. “But then, why? Why haven't you-?”

“Told him?” Tom completed, defiant. Emma nodded quietly, bewildered. He shrugged, biting his bottom lip. “It's no use now, Emma.”

“What are you talking about? Tom,” Emma paused, breathing. “You have to know that Chris feels really, really bad about-”

“Well, frankly, he doesn't look it.” He blurted, immediately feeling guilty and looking down at his lap. He didn't want to fight Emma, even less so over his late marriage's intricacies. For her part, Emma didn't say anything else and only stared at him with open shock. What felt like a whole minute went by.

“Wow.” Emma whispered, and looked away quickly before setting eyes on Tom again. “But he does, Tom. He feels really bad. It just-” She sighed. “You know, this is between you two, so.” Resigned, Emma waved the waiter over.

~*~

To Tom's surprise, Emma didn't take their last conversation to heart, and they spent the rest of the day talking about other subjects. He sat patiently and waited for Emma to try on different clothes, giving his opinion honestly. They reminisced their younger years, of course, and his sister accidentally reminded him of the time she had walked in on him and Chris at the living room, back when they were engaged. 

“I mean, okay.” She had said. “But the living room? How can you get it on in the living room? Mom was upstairs.” 

Blushing and looking down, Tom only smiled and shook his head. 

In the end, Emma dropped him off and waved, her face expressive. “Enjoy your day tomorrow, Tom.” She called when he was walking up to open the door. 

Tom thanked and waved, watching as his sister's car drove away and around the corner. Sighing, Tom unlocked his door and entered his house. Everything looked like it always did, clean, cold and empty. Tom gulped and slumped on the sofa, his heart familiarly heavy. Alone with his thoughts, he spent the best part of an hour thinking about what Emma had said. 

His sister was worried, and that was understandable. But he couldn't ignore that she was opening old wounds. Tom wasn't happy with this life he led, alone, only seeing his son sporadically, and even then doing nothing other than staying home with him, watching the same Disney movies. It wasn't terrible, but something was always missing. It felt like he was trying to walk with only one leg, ignoring that he wasn't and couldn't make any progress. 

He tried not to think of it, just like he had been trying since the divorce, but he looked back on his life with Chris. His and Henry's sweet laughter filling every room, the walls white, the house so full of light. They had friends and family in union, Henry between them, it was so perfect. 

And it had been so sudden.

Tom reached for his cell phone, staring at the mountain landscape he had as a locker screen. He had no new emails, but he had one message, from Elsa: “that's great, Tom, thank you so much xxx”. Gulping, he stared at Chris' profile picture, he and Henry making goofy faces. Chuckling, he opened the keyboard, and watched as the cursor winked at him, waiting. 'Chris feels really, really bad', Emma's voice sounded in his head. Sighing, Tom bit his lip, beginning to type 'Hi, I spoke to Emma today and-' before erasing it and dropping his cell phone on the coffee table. 

You're being a coward, Thomas, he thought. But he was stubborn, and made sure his cell phone ran out of battery just so he wouldn't have any impulses again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for ending the chapter like this :c I don't know if all of you keep up with my other fics too but I'll travel this week, so updates will only be available after that. But fear not! Also, I'm putting up a playlist for this fic because it gives me feels... If you want to contribute you can leave a song/music/melody/symphony that reminds you of this fic on your comment and I'll put everything together and publish it along with next chapter! :)))) Many many many kisses!!! <3<3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm late late late, but some technical stuff happened (my computer died but I brought it back to life with my fists of justice) and rendered me useless for a while. Fortunately I was able to send all of my fics and chapters to the sanctuary of my email before I formatted my computer and lost everything. I had to use my sister's computer but my fingers couldn't shape themselves to her keyboard, but it looks like we've all stood the test of time, right?
> 
> New chapter brought to you with apologetic 8.5 k words. Warnings for feelings, heavy, emotional feelings.

He didn't sleep well. He woke up from time to time, to hug his pillow and stare at the courtines' movement. He thought of Henry. He thought of Chris. He thought about how they were home now, sleeping peacefully, tucked in their warm beds. He wished Elsa hadn't showed up in their lives, wished Emma hadn't said anything at lunch, wished he could see Chris' family. He just generally wished a lot of things. 

When his alarm rang, Tom sighed and reached to turn it off. His eyes were dry and heavy and he groaned when standing up. He prepared breakfast and turned the morning news on. He ate quietly, washed the dishes, and having nothing else to do, cleaned the kitchen. He went to take a shower and waited for Chris at the living room, foot bouncing. When he heard the horn outside, he jumped, got on his feet and collected his wallet. 

“Shit.” He had forgotten to charge his cell phone. Shaking his head, Tom left it above his coffee table and exited the house. 

Chris and Henry waited for him. Henry inside the car and Chris opening the passenger door for him. “Thank you.” He whispered, and sat, watching his ex through the windshield as he went around to the driver's seat. 

“Papa!” Henry shrieked from the backseat, and Tom turned to greet him. “Do you know where we are going, papa? Dad didn't want to tell me.” He asked, pouting. 

Giving Chris a quick look, Tom shrugged, putting on his best innocent face. “I don't know, sweetheart. We'll see when we get there.” And winked. 

~*~*~ 

They had almost broken up once. 

Tom had been in his last year of college and Chris had just graduated. With a heavy heart, they had parted. Chris had been quickly hired by their city's hospital, and Tom remained on campus to complete his degree. They talked mostly through Skype, but Chris' schedule was always full and whenever they spoke he went on and on about how much fun he was having, how much dedication it took from him, how many friends he had made. Tom had been happy for him, but everything had been different. He couldn't ignore how Chris' life was moving on without him, how he was experiencing another phase in his life and how Tom was so detached from it. 

“Did you tell him all of that?” Emma had asked when Tom had told her, during one of their classical Sunday phone calls. 

“Well, no.” He shrugged, eyeing his room mate's sleeping form at the other side of the room, snoring soundly. 

“No? Tom, you're making it difficult to yourself!” Emma had criticized. 

Sighing, Tom had given up on his essay. “I know, but he's never free, Emma, what can I do? I can't call him during the day because I always get his voicemail or when he answers he just sounds so hurried and out of it that it embarrasses me.” He whined, growing frustrated. “And when we Skype he just looks and sounds so happy that,” he scratched the short bristles forming on his chin, which he hadn't had the time to shave, “That there's nothing I can do, all I do is say 'that's great, darling, I'm so happy for you', and that is it.” 

“Shit.” Emma whispered. “That's complicated.” 

“Yeah, it is.” Tom grumbled. 

“Hey, why don't you come visit?” Emma asked, suddenly struck by the idea. “This weekend. We all miss you and you could surprise Chris, I think he's staying at his parents' until he buys a house.” 

“I don't know, it's such a long drive.” Tom mumbled. 

“Don't be lazy, Thomas. Come, I'll even take my shit out of your room.” 

“You put your shit in my room?” 

That had been how Tom had gone back home that weekend. Emma's idea, although he hated to agree, was a good one. He and Chris needed to see each other, not just by low resolution cameras; they needed to see each other physically. And Chris would be so surprised to see him. He borrowed his room mate's car after much insistence, a tattered and old thing that almost ran out of gas during the way. He had managed to arrive just before lunch, and after opening the door, was promptly engulfed by his sisters' hugs and the delicious smell of his mother's cooking. 

“Oh, darling, we missed you so much.” His mother said, cupping his cheek. They were sat at the table, finally having their lunch after Tom's stomach had growled so loudly that his mother had taken the pie out of the oven before its due time. Tom smiled around his mouthful. “So many things have happened. Our neighbors finally moved out, thanks god, I couldn't stand those dogs anymore.” 

“Mom.” Emma berated. 

“Oh, darling, it's true.” Their mother smiled, waving her away. “Anyway, Sarah's got a new boyfriend.” She whispered, and when Tom turned widened eyes to her, Sarah ducked her head and blushed. “Oh, and Mrs. McKay, do you remember her? From my book club. Yes, she had a problem on her spine or her liver, I'm not sure, but I appointed her to Chris and now she's all praises about him. I think you've got yourself a competitor, darling.” She winked her son's way, Tom blushing quietly and smiling. Mrs. McKay was seventy-five years old, and the idea of her making googly eyes at his boyfriend was a little endearing. Hm, he couldn't wait to see Chris. “Oh, I almost forgot! Chris stopped by yesterday-” 

“He did?” Tom asked, surprised. 

“Yes, I invited him for dinner.” His mother continued. “Emma wouldn't let me tell him that you'd be coming home today, so I think it's a surprise, hm?” 

Heart warming, Tom had looked down. “Yes, it is.” 

After lunch they had watched Bridget Jones. Again. When the clock struck four, however, Tom couldn't desguise his excitement any longer, and under his mother's and sisters' teasing words, had left for the hospital. 

The building was a tall, large and white thing with too many glinting windows. He parked down a street nearby after accidentally entering through the emergency entrance and receiving a severe horn from an ambulance. At that time downtown had been full and Tom squeezed past hurried business people to get to the hospital's door. The reception was an ample, white room that at the time had only a few patients, an elderly couple, a man who couldn't stop clearing his throat and a group of women holding test results. He made his way to the counter, where three women in uniforms answered phone calls and wrote things down in practiced speed. 

“Hm, hello.” He had said, approaching the one in the center. She had looked up at him while typing on her computer. “Uh, I'm here for Chris. Hemsworth.” He added when the woman frowned. 

“I'm sorry, sir, I don't know what you mean.” She replied, pausing on her typing. “Do you wish to see doctor Hemsworth? Do you have an appointment? I'm sure he's at his station now, and he doesn't usually-” 

“No, I-” He hesitated ungracefully. “I am” he looked at her impassive face. “His boyfriend. And I wanted to, you know, surprise him.” 

Blushing hotly, he watched her face as she stared at him and blinked owlishly. When it seemed she had reached a decision, she just averted her eyes. “I see, I'll let him know that you're waiting.” 

“No.” He interrupted, wincing at his own awkwardness. The woman frowned heavily and her fellow receptionist gave him a curious once-over after hanging up her phone. “I mean, I'm sorry, but I intended to surprise him, you see,” He smiled. “I made a long way here-” 

“I'm sure you did.” She replied, not looking and sounding like she could care less. 

Gulping, Tom flushed. “I just wanted to surprise him. He doesn't know I'm in town.” 

“That's all very lovely, sir, but he's on duty now and-” Her phone rang, and she paid him a quick “Excuse me,” before lifting the receiver to answer. Nodding, Tom cleared his throat discreetly and looked around. Behind the counter the whole wall was occupied by high glass doors through which the interior of the hospital was visible, a round and high room on which white and long hallways outflew into, patients wandering or sitting around what looked like the main counter, talking to each other as nurses came and went in full garb. Elevator doors pinged and opened, a tall board containing the floors and its departments beside it. Tom didn't even know what floor Chris worked at. 

Shifting on his feet, he looked down at his shoes, hearing loud voices coming from behind him as an ambulance arrived with its high and unforgiving siren. A woman with a crying infant on her lap came to stand beside him and ask something to the other receptionist. Tom smiled and waved at the child but it just blinked at him and proceeded to cry louder, its face red and angry. 

“Sir, listen.” The receptionist said, after having hung up her phone. “Doctor Hemsworth is on his duty now and I can't pull him out of it.” She flashed him a quick look and opened her mouth to say something else. 

“Right.” Tom cut in. “What time is he free then? When does his duty end?” 

The receptionist swallowed and turned to the clock hanging on the wall. “In one hour and a half.” 

Tom's heart weighed, and he gave a sideways smile before nodding. “Okay. I'll wait. Thanks.” 

Tom sat next to the elderly couple, staring ahead and taking the time to observe the hospital's life. The receptionist called a name and the old woman beside him stood next to her husband, nodding as she told them something and pointed towards the door, that slid open as they walked inside. Tom's eyes flicked back to the receptionist, that continued typing on her computer. Sighing, he stood to get some water, and played the snake game on his cell phone, waiting for the time to go by. He looked up when the old couple came back, the old man with his arm around his wife's shoulders, whispering to her as she cried quietly, clutching a handkerchief tightly. His heart heavy, Tom watched as they left, crossing gazes with the receptionist, who went back to her work, unperturbed, a hard set to her eyes. Gritting his teeth, Tom wondered how she and her coworkers were so insensitive, and sadly realized that they must see this everyday. 

He crossed his arms and waited. With every minute that passed it seemed the next took longer to arrive and Tom yawned, checking the time again. Half an hour until Chris was done. He let his head fall on the chair's back rest, and closed his eyes. Why was he here anyway? He could've gone back home and returned once Chris was out. But his perserverance felt like a reassurance of his need to see Chris and honestly, he hadn't even thought about going home. He was here now, and although it was a stubbornness akin to a child's, he wanted to see Chris now. And he wouldn't leave until he had done so. The hard part was figuring something to do with half an hour to kill. But then again he had already waited a whole hour, half of it couldn't be any harder. 

Except Tom waited for half an hour, and nothing. Five more minutes. Ten. 

The receptionist had all but forgotten his existence, and when fifteen minutes had gone by with still no whiff of Chris, he stood. 

“Hi, it's me.” He informed, the receptionist looking up at him. “Uhm, I believe you told me that doctor Hemsworth,” It sounded so weird to call him that, “Would be out,” He checked the clock to make a point. “Fifteen minutes ago.” 

The woman turned her eyes to the clock, as if she didn't trust him. He wondered if she ever made any move other than that, answering her phone and typing. He had waited for one hour and half and she hadn't left for the bathroom once. “Indeed.” She said, and grabbed her phone before sighing. “I'll ask after it.” Tom opened his mouth but she was quick to add. “Without spoiling your surprise, sir.” 

Silent and already impatient, Tom tapped his foot and watched as the receptionist mumbled something into the speaker that seemed to have been purposefully low enough so he couldn't hear it. “Right.” She finally said, and Tom's eyes fixed on her. “Nothing, he has someone here who wishes to see him.” Tom wanted to ask what was it, but the woman didn't immediately hang up. Instead, she hummed and cupped the speaker with a hand before turning to him. “Doctor Hemsworth is attending an emergency now. No prevision of time.” 

Shoulders slumping, Tom mumbled a disappointed “Oh.” 

For all her antipathetic ways, the receptionist looked a little, just a little bit sorry for him, and answered something on her phone before hanging up. Feeling more than dismissed, Tom blinked back the sudden moisture in his eyes and swallowed down his muddle of frustration, going back to his seat and sighing for what felt like a lifetime. Maybe Chris wouldn't take so long anyway. 

His belly growled, he was hungry, he was tired. Crossing his arms, he stared off into space until a hand appeared on his line of sight, waving. Tom startled and looked up, finding the hand belonged to a dark-haired man in a white cloak, probably around Chris' own age, smiling down at him and possessing a handsomeness Tom would've blushed to if he wasn't already taken. 

“Hi, are you Chris' mysterious visit?” He asked, smile still in place. 

Tom blinked, clearing his throat and straightening his position on his seat. “Uh- perhaps, I don't know, hm, probably yes.” He winced, and the man laughed. “It was supposed to be a surprise.” He said, although he wasn't really caring anymore. 

“Ah, it's still a surprise, don't worry, I didn't tell him.” The man assured, and extended his hand. “David Morrison, also known as Chris' best friend.” 

Tom shook his hand and gasped. “Oh, he told me about you!” 

“He tends to do that.” He joked. 

“I'm Tom Hiddleston.” He said, waiting for David's reaction, which was... none. Disconcerted, he added. “Uh, his boyfriend.” 

“Oh, of course!” David laughed. “Sorry for this head of mine.” He apologized. “Well, I believe they told you that Chris is with an emergency now, right? So, I don't know how long it's going to take, I think a patient of his needed to go into surgery and he had to accompany the proceeding.” He checked his wrist watch, making a face. “Yeah. Would you like to come upstairs with me? I can sneak you outside the surgery room. You do know that no one actually leaves through the reception, right?” 

Feeling his cheeks warming, Tom gave a little laugh and stood. “Right, yeah. That'd be great, thank you.” He followed David inside the sliding glass doors, standing beside him as they waited for the elevator. “Chris never mentioned me?” He asked, because the question had been eating at him. 

David chuckled, a little embarrassedly. “He did, I mean, I've always known he had a boyfriend, I just didn't link the name to the person.” 

Not knowing if that was better or worse, Tom smiled quickly. “Oh.” 

David led Tom into one of the highest floors until they reached an area that was mostly empty save for doctors and nurses that rushed by and gave them curious stares. The place held a pungent, sterile scent, like every inch had been scrubbed with alcohol. Some people that Tom assumed were the patient's relatives sat in nervous silence next to a double door, and he couldn't imagine a less exciting place to surprise his boyfriend in. To think that whoever was that Chris was cutting could die at his hands any moment now made Tom want to flee. For someone as easy-going and cheerful as Chris, everything in this place just looked so incompatible. 

“You can wait here, Tom.” David said. “When the surgery ends Chris will come out. I'll come check on you whenever I can, okay?” Tom smiled in gratification, althought everything in David's words made him feel like a child in need of babysitting. 

Tom took a seat at the end of the hallway, beside a m&m's machine. He thought better not to sit next to the patient's family. His reason to be there just sounded so absurd and contrasting next to theirs that it would sound disrespectful to, and he could end up absorbing their mourning and becoming even more frustrated and disturbed. There was a small window next to him, and he looked up at the darkening sky and searched for stars. The streets and avenues shone golden with all the vehicle's headlights, Tom inclining his head down to watch the distant lines. If he fell from this height his death would be horrible. 

He found some coins in his pockets and bought himself a milk chocolate m&m, cursing when a bright red one fell to the floor. Sighing, he finished and stood to throw the empty packet in the garbage. Ten more minutes and he would have already waited for almost three hours. 

His cell phone was running out of battery but just because he could, he dialed Chris' number. It rang and rang until reaching voicemail and Tom clicked his tongue, going through the photographs he had stored in its memory. Most of them were foggy because his camera sucked, but the content didn't go farther than Chris and him, cuddling, kissing, poking their tongues out to the camera, laughing with their friends, Chris' half-moon smile and the shape of his body under Tom's sheets. There was a photo of Tom's attempted vegetarian pie gone wrong, a disform and burnt mass that Chris had laughed his ass off when seeing before Tom had made him eat it or they were going two months without sex. The memory made him smile. 

It didn't take long and his phone died, Tom whining and feeling an incredible desire to cry. David appeared not two minutes later, handing him a glass of water. “Sorry I couldn't bring anything better,” he had said. “We're having chicken for dinner, though, do you want me to try and sneak you some? But I must warn you that hospital food is as bad as they say it.” 

Chuckling, Tom drank the water. “That'd be lovely, thank you, I could eat a cardboard box right now. But are you sure I won't get you into trouble?” 

David waved it away and brought back a small styrofoam container, that true to his word, held a dinner that tasted bland and flat. Tom ate like a starving man, and as David watched him, he blushed and swallowed slowly. “Sorry.” But Chris' friend just smiled and winked. “Thanks, David, truly.” He said when he was done. 

“No problem.” 

But when he was about to go, “Wait,” Tom said, eyes flicking to the double doors at the end of the hallway. “Do you know when-?” 

David gave him a sad smile. “I really don't, Tom, sorry. There's no way of knowing.” 

Tom hummed and stared at him. “Can you tell him, please?” 

“What?” 

“Tell him I'm here.” Tom asked. “Please. I mean, is that possible?” 

David hesitated before shrugging. “Yeah, I can send someone in. But are you sure?” 

Tom nodded and watched as David went away. A few minutes later a man in a complete blue uniform went inside the room, and Tom bit his lip and looked away. 

He had waited for another hour, and finally, the doors opened. Out came two women, and the patient's relatives stood up to hear what they said. Chris appeared not one minute later, and joined the group as he spoke to the family, that nodded and looked calmer after his words. He smiled reassuringly and then his eyes flicked to the end of the hallway, where they met Tom's. 

Tom's breath left him, and his chest felt lighter. Chris excused himself and walked to meet him, Tom standing and waiting. “Surprise.” He said, meekly, arms widening before falling pathetically beside him. 

“Oh, baby.” Chris breathed quietly. He wore the same blue uniform as everyone else, though he had taken his mask out, and as he walked his mouth turned down. Tom made to hug him but Chris said he had just exited a surgery room and that wasn't the best hygienic thing to do. Upon seeing Tom's sad expression, he leaned forward and planted a peck on his lips. “What are you doing here?” He asked, and though he hadn't asked in a blunt way, Tom's heart clenched. 

“What do you mean, I... I came to see you.” He whispered, gulping down hard and staring at Chris, who sighed. 

“I know, baby, and I loved it, really, but why did you wait so long? You could've stayed home-” But that had been clearly the wrong thing to say because Tom's brows pinched and he gaped like he was about to cry. “Tom, no, listen, I get it.” He grabbed his elbows, his hands cold even through the material of Tom's coat. “But this is nowhere you come to have a nice time and damn, I was worried sick about you being here, outside, by your own, and there was nothing I could do to leave any faster.” 

“I missed you.” Tom whispered, his eyes so big. This was not- Not what he had imagined. He thought Chris would be more appreciative of the fact that he had waited so long to see him, and now here he was, feeling like a scolded child, cornered. 

The lines around Chris' eyes softened. “I know, baby, and I missed you too. But you were here by yourself while you could be home and I don't want to expose you to any of this.” 

Tom sighed, staring at Chris' chest because he couldn't stand looking into his eyes. Chris looked over his shoulder at the patient's family that retreated into the exit, the surgeons and assistants leaving the room slowly and talking, paying them no mind. 

“Are you- Are you ashamed of me?” Tom asked, his voice low and brittle. Because it made so much sense that Chris would say it, that he would feel that, if Tom thought about David's words, how he didn't know who Tom was, even if he was Chris' best fucking friend. 

Chris frowned, clasping his waist with one hand and bringing him closer, watching him until their eyes met. “Baby, of course not. How can you say that? I want to show you off, look at you, you're beautiful.” Tom looked away, not letting it show if he believed him or not. Chris cupped his neck and kissed a cheekbone when Tom tilted his head away. “Tom, please, you're misunderstanding it. I want you safe, I don't want to risk you. This place is full of diseases, you catch a super bacteria because of me and how do you think that will make me feel?” Chris whispered, pulling his face closer, his eyes blue and intent. “To know that you waited for more than one hour-” 

“Four hours.” Tom corrected, Chris' eyes widening. 

“Shit.” He mumbled. Behind them a door closed, leaving both alone in the hallway. “Baby-” 

“Don't baby me.” Tom cut off, trying to escape Chris' hands. “If I stayed it was because I wanted to, because I wanted to see you. It was supposed to be a surprise.” He looked Chris in the eye only to huff and shake his head. “I'm such an idiot, I should've told you sooner that I was here.” 

“And make me even crazier knowing that you spent four hours waiting, Tom?” Chris asked, Tom not knowing how he was to blame on this. “I could barely sustain one hour in agony knowing that you were here.” Chris sighed and gave a step back. Tom hesitated, he had rebutted Chris' hands but watching as he stepped away made him want to draw him back in. “There's no way you don't know it.” Chris continued, eyes closed, and Tom gulped, not knowing what he was about to say or do. “What you do to me. Every minute I spend without you hurts like a motherfucker, and I can't stand it anymore-” 

“Chris.” Tom called, because he was growing scared. 

“And you feel it too.” Chris accused, chest heaving. He gulped, and Tom could do nothing except watch with wide eyes. “We can't be the same anymore, Tom.” 

“Stop." Tom pleaded. He didn't want to hear anything anymore. He just wanted Chris to shut up. He wanted to go back home and pretend this never happened, that this gap in time held no meaning, had no existence, no relevance. "Stop that.” 

“It's the truth. We barely speak. I'm always busy, I never have time for you. We're cities away from each other and even though we insist the distance doesn't change anything, we're lying, because it does." Chris continued. 

"It's only for a year." Tom defended, because they could wait. Things weren't perfect but it was a temporary arrangement. They had talked about it. They had agreed on it. 

"I know." Chris sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know, but it's not enough, Tom. I'm not saying it's not my fault because I know it's my fault. I'm being unfair," 

"You are." Tom supplied. 

"But I can't have you attached to me while you should be living your life." 

"But it's my choice." Tom whined. This couldn't be it, he didn't want it. He had waited because he wanted to, he had come because he wanted to, and he could sustain Chris' absence if he wanted to. "I choose what I do with my life." 

"Of course you do, baby, but it's my choice too." Chris intervened, and Tom crossed his arms, staring at the floor. "I have a job here and I need to focus on it, I'm just beginning my career." Chris sighed. "I'll be busy and I'll drag you down with it, and I don't want to. I want you healthy, I want you safe, I want you enjoying yourself, doing things you like, finishing college." 

"I can only do those things with you." Tom replied, doing anything to make Chris change his mind. 

"But you haven't even tried without me, baby. How can you lose faith on yourself like this?" 

Tom didn't say anything, instead he closed his eyes, turning his head away when Chris ran a finger down his cheek. "Tom, listen." Tom bit his lip and shook his head. He couldn't believe it, he didn't want to hear it. "We need some time." 

They stood in silence. Tom wanted to say a thousand times no but faced with Chris' determined voice, he was undermined. He could understand Chris' reasoning but it felt so distorted. Tom tightened his lips and nodded once, wiping a tear away furiously. 

"Hey," Chris murmured, inching closer and tipping Tom's chin up with a thumb. "Hey," He tried again when Tom remained with his eyes shut. After a sniffle, Tom opened his eyes, wet and teary. "I love you." 

That only made Tom want to cry all the more. 

The process of going back home had been difficult. He had blatantly refused Chris' offer of a ride, teary-eyed and moody. He drove carefully and sometimes so slowly that other drivers veered away. Parking at his house's garage, he exited the car slowly and took in a deep breath. His mother and sisters were no doubt thinking that he had had a spectacular evening with Chris and they were so far from the truth... He opened the front door and entered the house, already hearing his sisters talking excitedly and laughing somewhere inside. He deposited his keys over a small table in the hall and its sound awakened his sisters and mother to his presence, because Emma shouted merrily. "Oh, lover boy is back! We thought you wouldn't be coming back today!" Followed by a serie of giggles. 

Tom found them at the dining table, playing some sort of card game. Emma was the first to turn to him. "Oh, you-" Her smile crumpled, eyes going from mirthful to concerned. "Tom, what's wrong?" 

Sarah and his mother turned to him but Tom kept his eyes fixated on Emma, her slightly parted lips and her shocked face. "Darling..." He had heard his mother's whisper. His brows creased, and Tom bit his bottom lip forcefully, to avoid bawling like a baby if only for a second longer. He had heard the scrape of chairs and then arms had been around him. 

"Tom, what happened?" 

~*~ 

The amusement park was outside their city, so the ride took longer than Tom had expected. At first Heny had engaged them on a retelling of his last days of school but had ran out of any other stories twenty minutes later. 

"Are we there yet?" He asked, and Tom turned his eyes to Chris. 

"We're almost there." Chris assured, and resumed drumming his fingers over the steering wheel as the road extended into a neat line ahead. The radio was playing a soft jazz that reminded Chris of an album his mother used to play when he was a child. It was pretty much the only album he owned and Tom had heard it countless times. 

A huge outdoor announced the amusement park, its attractions and proximity; and Tom was quick to distract Henry out of his window. 

"What was that?" Henry asked, trying to turn his little head to see the outdoor. 

Tom shared an accomplice look with Chris and grinned. "Nothing, darling." 

But in no time they arrived at the park's entrance, where cars queued to acquire tickets from tiny cabins. The higher attractions were visible, a roller-coaster with twisting rails that had Tom's stomach dropping, a red Ferris wheel and a couple others tall and colourful buildings. 

Behind them, Henry gasped. "Dad!" He screamed. "Dad, we're here?" 

"Oh, you mean this?" Chris asked, pointing at the park through the windshield. Henry giggled, nodding. "No, this is just standing in our way, we have to go through it yet." He answered, winking at Tom, a wicked glint in his eyes. Tom smiled, but narrowed his eyes at him and shook his head. 

"No!" Henry shouted. "Let's stay here, please, please." Chris grinned, making a pensive face. "Please, dad." The boy insisted. "Papa, please." He turned to Tom, leaning on his seat, little hands together in pleading. 

Tom smiled and hummed, considering. He cast Chris an amused look and shifted on his seat to face Henry over the console. "Well, I think we could stay for a while..." He mumbled to Henry's delight, who beamed and cheered. "If your father agrees." 

They both turned to Chris. Henry with bated breath and hopeful eyes and Tom with a dimpled cheek. Chris licked his lips, eyeing Tom and sighing. "I think we could stop just to take a look around." 

Henry screamed and Tom laughed tenderly, missing Chris' warm gaze. 

Chris got them their parking ticket, driving into the spacious parking lot. They exited the car, Henry jumping and staring at the high attractions. 

"Can we go in that one, papa?" He asked, pointing at the roller-coaster. 

Tom laughed nervously. "Sure, sweetie, your father will take you." 

He heard Chris' muffled chuckle but chose to ignore it, taking Henry's hand as they followed the path leading to the park's high archway. 

There were other parents with their children as well, the park full on a Sunday. Tom's eyes were attracted by the smaller stands, the magician taking a rabbit out of his hat, the hand-reading gypsy, the target shooting that promised any gift to anyone that hit the distant and small bottle at the top. There were clowns in colourful attires, blowing soap bubbles, the air hanging with the smell of popcorn and butter, Tom's mouth watering. 

"This place is amazing!" Henry screamed, running to the carousel and dragging Tom by his hand, Chris following. 

They waited in line with Henry, watching as children rotated in and out of sight atop their horses, the machine playing a merry song. When their time came, a girl took Henry inside as Chris fished his cell phone out for pictures. Tom watched as his son chose a horse with a red saddle, the girl picking him up and elevating him to its seat. He turned to them, smiling and waving. 

"Chris," Tom called, as the girl went around setting more children. Chis hummed in response, focusing his camera on Henry's toothy grin. "Don't you think it's a little dangerous?" 

Chris frowned slightly, and didn't take his eyes out of his screen. "Dangerous? No, he just has to hold onto the post." 

Tom gulped. "But do you think he will? They should have more safety-" 

"Tom." Chris interrupted on a soft voice. "Calm down, he's fine." 

Unsure, Tom gave him a look that had Chris instantly freezing, and leaned over the rail. 

"Henry," He called, his son turning to him. "Hold on tight, okay?" Henry nodded excitedly, and Tom rested back on his heels, sighing. He could feel Chris' eyes on his face, but kept his eyes fixated on Henry, who dutifully held himself, laughing when the machine started, gyrating slowly and then beginning to pick up its pace. 

Tom kept an avid eye on him and the other kids, seeing as they had no problem balancing themselves. Sighing in relief, he waved and cheered whenever Henry came into view, wishing he had brought his cell phone with him. But Chris took as many pictures as he could, so Tom figured he could ask for some. 

Once the ride finished, the girl helped Henry down the horse and the boy came back to them, jumping on Chris' outstretched arms and settling against his chest, receiving Tom's kisses and telling them how fun it had been and how he wished he had one of those at home to ride with his cousins and friends. 

"Okay, but what do you say about lunch now?" Chris asked, once they had left the carousel and tried on the swirling cups. 

Tom was starving, and so was Henry with the way his mood soured a bit. They found a restaurant near the aquatic attractions and ate a generous portion of French fries and burgers. They discussed where they should head off next and decided to try the boats that glided over an artificial lake's surface, surrounded by ducks that flapped wings and swam away when they got too close. 

"But I want to pet him." Henry whispered, extending a hand out of the boat to touch another passing duck, that quacked and changed routes to avoid it. "Why doesn't he like me?" He mumbled sadly. 

"Not all ducks are like Chuck back at home, baby." Tom explained, ruffling Henry's hair as Chris rowed the boat away. 

Resigned, Henry looked over the boat's edge and into the water, looking for fishes. 

"Sorry about earlier." Tom murmured, inclining his head toward Chris. "I was a bit..." He sighed and smiled, gawky. "You know how I am." 

Chris grinned, his eyes tender. "No problem." 

They exited the boats and checked the park's map for their localization. Henry wanted to go to the Ferris wheel but Tom thought better to leave it as their last destination, wanting to see the lights come on as the sky darkened. 

"I have a romantic soul." He shrugged when Chris asked after it, blushing and looking down after their eyes locked. 

With their lunches settled on their stomachs, they tried the more adventurous rides, beginning on a pendulum ride and a drop tower that had Tom's throat sore with all his screaming, Henry laughing at his face. 

"Henry, darling, you're not helping." Tom chastised, his heart almost springing out of his chest, the adrenaline still running on his veins. Henry, for his part, just giggled and took Chris' hand. "I'm serious, I didn't change his diapers for him to be this mean to me in the future." Tom mumbled, pouty, Chris patting his back for comfort. 

They rode on the mini kart, Tom's curls blowing out of his face with the force of the wind, chest bubbling in laughter as he chased them, giving Chris the tongue when he went past him but decelerating and letting Henry take the first position at the pole, an automatic camera snapping their picture. 

"Wow." Henry sighed, amazed, clutching the photo's edges. "Can I keep it in my room, dad, please? Can you hang it on the wall?" He asked, jumping and eyeing Chris in pleading. 

"Sure." Chris said, and tucked it in his pocket. 

They met the clown on their way to the square housing the stands, Henry eyeing him warily and hiding behind Tom's legs. The clown didn't give up, however, and handed Henry a tiny yellow flower that he took from his breast pocket. The boy smiled shyly and reached out for it beside Tom's leg. 

"Thank you." Tom whispered, and waved over his shoulder as they went to the magic's stand, Henry gasping and clapping when a dove appeared, trapped inside the magician's gloved fists. 

Chris and Henry walked ahead when they passed the hand-reading stand. A woman with strands of dark hair visible under a turban sat behind a counter, a glistening glass ball before her. Tom took a look at her and at all the knick knacks hanging around before gulping, though not before the woman caught his gaze and winked. Bothered and a little itchy, Tom hastened his step, sidling up to Chris, who lay a gentle hand at the small of his back. 

"You alright?" Chris asked, careful to tug Henry next to them when a wave of visitors went past. 

"Yeah." Tom shook his head. "It's nothing." 

Chris grinned, and his gaze swam past Tom's shoulder. "If you want to, I can take Henry to the Tornado while you check that out." He tilted his head to what could only be the hand-reading stand. 

Tom blushed. "Oh, no, there's no need. I-" He chuckled. "You know I'm a little superstitious-" 

"I know." Chris confessed, smiling. 

"But I don't think I'd fall for any of that." Tom shrugged, eyeing the stand disapprovingly. 

Chris assessed him. "Well, we're here to have fun. It's not like we think those magician's tricks were true, so..." He paused. "If you feel like going, this is your chance." 

Henry had stopped next to Chris' leg, looking up at them curiously. Tom bit his lip, weighing his choices down. He felt foolish, but like Chris said, it was all a matter of having fun. 

"Meet me next to the fountain." He said, meaning the dolphin fountain at the centre of the square. Chris smiled, nodding and clutching Henry's hand. 

Tom turned on his heels, making his way back to the mysterious stand. His steps slowed down when he approached it, and as he hesitantly stepped inside, took a long look over his shoulder to see if Chris and Henry were gone. They were. 

The dark-haired woman had her eyes on him, and when Tom shifted his gaze to her, she gave a wolfish grin. "I knew you'd come back." She said, and Tom fought against the instinct of rolling his eyes. 

The stand was heavily stereotypical, the air coated with an exotic scent that no doubt came from a burning incense hidden somewhere; some talismans lied over shelves, along some potted herbs and wooden carven characters, all wearing wide clothes and sapient smiles, entranced in some sort of dance. 

"Come." The woman insisted, and gestured to the small bench in front of her. 

Tom sat down, wide eyes still roaming the ornaments. Finally, he tore his gaze away, meeting the woman's chocolate brown eyes. The small smile she had on fell and Tom blinked in confusion. "Oh." He gasped, and reached for his pocket, wondering if she worked on tickets like the rides or on cash. He assumed the latter was more likely. Surprisingly enough, however, the woman's eyes hardened when he asked her price, and she was quick to answer. 

"My works are only repaid after the costumer is satisfied, and they come in any form or amount they see fit." 

Taken aback, Tom nodded, and stared at the counter's cloth pattern. "I-" 

"Something's been bothering you." The woman added, eyes sharp and intent as she arranged a deck of cards, raising a finger when Tom made to continue. "And it's not your future." 

Tom's mouth clicked shut, face paling. The hand-reader smiled knowingly, and added. "What troubles you is your past, am I right?" 

Tom breathed tensely. "Yes." 

The woman hummed, and smoothed a finger over a card thoughtfully. "I'm going to pull two cards out of this deck." She said, keeping her eyes firmly lowered, brows pinched. "When I'm done, you'll pull only one out. Deal?" 

Tom nodded quickly, watching as her finger slid to one of the cards, pulling it aside and turning it over, a drawing of a goblet pouring a red liquid. "In your past I see blood." She said, tone impassive, paying no mind to the way Tom went rigid. She reached for another card, and Tom watched her moves attentively. A drawing of what appeared to be an harp, though Tom wasn't sure, a pale light falling over it. The woman must've noticed his confusion, because she explained. "Cradle. An infant." 

She eyed him like she knew it, mouth free of any smile. Tom felt probed at, intruded upon. He looked away, but heard as she distinctly prodded him to take his card, his pale and long finger lingering over the deck, choosing a card out of the blue, turning it over quickly and willing it to be a farce, a random choice. What they stared at was a rude drawing of a knife, its false handle hiding another, sharper edge, a double-edged blade. 

"Treason." She explained, the word falling heavily on the silence that followed. 

Tom stared at the card, dumbfounded. His mouth hung open, and amidst his distress, he looked up at the woman. She watched him with hard eyes, although she looked a little uncomfortable. Her lips stretched, eyes going soft. "Is that how you feel about it?" She asked, but the question was so flat that Tom didn't know what he should answer, neither if he was even supposed to. 

Following his lack of reaction the woman reached for the cards, turning them over and including them back on the deck with expert fingers. 

It looked about done, and when she finished, she flicked her eyes back to him and smiled smartly. "Can I-" He spoke, licking his dry lips. "Can I know about my future?" 

The woman drew her shoulders in, and looked as though she was about to deny when she gestured to her recently arranged deck, waving at it with a flourish. "Take your choice." She said. 

Tom took a cursory glance at her, as if he was afraid there was some trick behind it or that the cards would bite his fingers. Again, he chose a random card, and handed it for her to flip over, which she did elegantly, both looking down at the drawing of a white dove carrying a branch on its beak. 

"I could interpret it." She said. "But I believe you know its meaning." She concluded, not batting an eyelash when Tom gave her a fifty, taking it with care and saving it somewhere under the counter. 

"Fare well, Thomas." She called before Tom was about to exit. Pausing on his shaky legs and feeling more perturbed than he assumed possible, Tom whipped his head back. 

"H-How do you know my name?" He asked, voice meek. 

The woman grinned slyly. "I've been to one of your plays once." She confessed, chuckling when he visibly let out a relieved breath. "Besides, I have to keep up the mystic." 

~*~ 

They met at the dolphin fountain like they had agreed on, Tom sat at its edge, staring into the stirring water, coins glinting at its bottom. 

Henry came running up to him, Tom flinching when seeing him approach. "Papa, it was awesome!" He jumped on his lap, hair askew. "A girl fainted but dad helped her and I felt like I was flying." He said, words jumbled in his hurry. Chris stood before them, smiling down at Tom before his eyes took him in, frowning slightly and cupping his shoulder. 

Tom rose with Henry on his lap, sighing and kissing the top of his head. 

"How did it go?" Chris asked, worry evident in his voice. 

"Wonderfully." Tom replied, smiling in reassurance, looking away, eyes falling on the ice cream parlor. "How about we get some ice cream?" He asked, already turning on his heels. 

They bought chocolate chip ice creams and found seats under a parasol. Chris kept shooting him worried glances and Tom tried not to think about how he looked like a huggable bear, an endearing nickname of theirs that Tom favoured back when they were married. 

Their lips turned sticky and Henry had to finish the half of Tom's ice cream that he had left untouched, looking all too happy to do so, eyes squinting back at Tom in a smile, laying his head on his shoulder as though in a subconscious way he could sense Tom's uneasiness and took it on himself to comfort him. Tom soaked up on his happiness and forgot about everything else, feeling the warmth of Chris' gaze on him and the way he adoringly gulped, nervously reaching out to caress his shoulder blades, as if he too wanted to comfort him without knowing how, neither how well it would be received. 

Tom wanted to kiss him, lips jutting forward before he held himself back and hid his intent under a smile, for the first time not feeling like he should despise the feeling nor that he should will it away and try to convince himself that it was wrong, that he didn't want it, would never want it again. 

They were almost leaving when Chris reminded him of the Ferris Wheel. The sky wasn't dark and the lights weren't glinting like Tom had envisioned it, instead it was orange with hesitant purple clouds. 'That's a lot better', Tom thought, looking down at the people that wandered, the size of ants, like the little dark ones that followed a trail to the remains of sugar that always lingered on their kitchen counter when Tom would bake sweets for Henry's birthday parties. 

They said their goodbyes to the waving clown, Tom giving the mystic woman's stand a sideways glance, strangely glad that they didn't have to pass in front of it again. 

They found their way to the car safely, paying for the parking lot's ticket, Tom choosing to go in the front next to Chris though he felt like sitting next to Henry to watch his eyes dropping when he began to feel sleepy. 

Chris paid him a last look before buckling his seat belt, and when Tom answered with a genuine smile, they exchanged a look that had Tom flushing all over when he could almost touch Chris' effort not to pounce on him. 

In amicable silence, they headed to the theatre, Tom feeling sparks lighting up his veins and wondering if he wouldn't give his performance of a lifetime today. There was Elsa on the way, though, and Tom played with the possibility that instead of introducing Chris to her, he could just keep him to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no excuse for what I've done. Sorry for typos and thanks for the encouragement.


	10. Chapter 10

They arrived earlier than previewed, Chris parking next to the theatre and shutting the engine off. Behind them, Henry slept cosily with a little closed fist next to his face. 

"I had fun," Tom began, looking for a way to cut the silence that anteceded a goodbye. 

"Me too," Chris said, shooting him a half-moon smile. 

Tom hummed, lowering his gaze and biting the corner of his lip. "Okay," He murmured, for a lack of a better thing to say. He could feel the fan of his eyelashes over the top of his cheeks and remembered that Chris used to be infatuated with that part of him. He batted his eyes flimsily, just so he could be sure that they still held no power over Chris. He was wrong, because his ex-husband's eyes narrowed, gaping before he balked and looked away. 

Gosh, Tom thought, a little scandalized with his own behaviour. Was he flirting? No, he was just being ridiculously teasing, uncaring if there even existed a difference between the two terms. 

"Right, so," Tom unbuckled his seat belt, looking back at Henry's sleeping form. "Can you get him without waking him up?" 

Chris frowned. "Yes, but why- Oh! The person you'd like me to meet!" He exclaimed, nodding before exiting to take Henry. 

Tom smiled briefly, heart falling when remembering Elsa. He shut the door after him and stood to help Chris, Henry curling his arms around his father's neck, eyes still tightly shut. Tom closed the door and ran a finger over his son's cheek. 

"Car rides always make him so sleepy,", Tom said as they made their way to the theatre's backdoor, Chris following his lead. 

"We're lucky, though," His ex replied. "Luke's children get nauseous and throw up all over the car." 

"Ew," Tom made a face, giggling and waving at one of the stage managers as they entered. 

Things backstage were already buzzing, the crew moving around as Tom led the way to the dressing rooms, Chris tagging along with Henry. The director's assistant crossed ways with them, eyes lighting when settling on Tom. "Hey, Tom, Elsa was looking for you.", he said, flicking his gaze to Chris curiously. 

"Oh, thank you, I'll go see her right now." 

Anxious to get this over with, Tom led Chris to Elsa's dressing room, facing the door and taking two gulpfuls of air to assure himself he really was doing this just because he wanted to. He knocked twice, heard some fumbling from inside and then the door opened. 

"Oh, Tom," Elsa gasped, eyes leaving him almost immediately to settle on Chris, nervously looking down and widening the door's stance to let them in. She was halfway into her costume, a long skirt flowing around her legs and an untied corset enclosing her torso. "It's so good to see you, uhm- Come in. Oh, your son looks adorable." 

Chris had a very weird expression on, hesitating on the doorway, Henry sleeping heavily on his arms. Tom walked inside and when it was clear that Chris was meant to do the same, he followed, standing a few feet away from the door. Tom flicked his eyes up to him, meeting Chris' gaze, a harsh and serious, almost betrayed look that made Tom's world crumble from beneath his feet. 

"Ahn," Elsa mumbled, clearly not knowing what to do as she turned expectant eyes to Tom's grayish and plain face. "Hello," She decided to greet Chris, waving her hand sympathetically. 

"Hi," Chris smiled politely. 

Finally swallowing past his turmoil, Tom opened his mouth. "So, Elsa," he began, turning to her robotically. She smiled up at him, as though inciting him to continue, her smile wide and her face so pretty that why wouldn't Chris want her? "This is Chris." He finished, biting his lip to refrain from saying 'my ex-husband', which would only sound terrifyingly terrible in this situation. Both pair of eyes fell on Chris, whose eyes landed on Elsa after sparing Tom a look that had him dropping his gaze to the floor ashamedly. 

"Hello, Chris. It's so nice to meet you." Elsa extended her hand, laughing when Chris made an effort to shake it while bravely keeping Henry in his arms. 

"Here," Tom offered, gesturing for Chris to pass their son over, which he did carefully, noticing how Tom avoided his gaze entirely. Henry's body squirmed but quickly found comfort in his arms. "Chris," Tom continued, because he felt it was only proper. "This is Elsa, my co-star." 

"It's a pleasure, Elsa." Chris determined, promptly shaking her hand. Tom noticed that whatever emotion had his eyes so dark when falling on Tom was lacking when he looked at Elsa, not knowing if it was because Chris was too polite to let her sense their discomfort or for any other reason he was afraid to reflect upon. 

"So," Tom sighed, his voice so false he wondered how they had thought Chris wouldn't notice this had all been planned out in advance. "I'll show Henry around for a bit, Elsa, can you keep Chris some company?" 

"Oh, absolutely." She accepted, smiling up at Chris radiantly. "If Chris wouldn't mind, of course?" 

Chris laughed. "Not at all. I've been looking forward to complimenting your performance." He said, smiling kindly down at her. 

Tom stood thunderstruck, altogether losing his cue to leave the scene as he fumbled with an open mouth. Where the hell had this come from? Chris was so gallant. And he was flirting. Right in front of him. "Excuse me." He whispered, his harsher tone of voice not befitting the illusory warm atmosphere they had tried to build up. He went past Chris, swallowing hard as he adjusted Henry on his arms, legs working to lead him away. 

He tried not to imagine what they were talking about in Elsa's dressing room, as if it was a past he had no longer connections with. 

"Hey, Tom!" Someone called, a voice he recognized belonged to the director, who sure enough came to pat his shoulder and ask him something before his eyes fell on Henry. "Ah, your boy?" 

"Yes." Tom breathed, voice lacking the pride parents usually talked about their children with. 

"I see." The director whispered. "Is everything all right?" 

~*~ 

Tom had to start on his costume and his arms were beginning to ache from carrying Henry for too long. Deciding to drop the act, he went back to Elsa's dressing room, the door open and hinting at his ex-husband and his co-star talking animatedly, still standing on the same spot he had left them on. Tom knocked because he didn't know how to politely interrupt. 

"Elsa," He murmured, after both had startled and looked back at him. "The director says we have thirty minutes." 

"Oh, right!" She laughed. "I completely lost track of time. Chris, it was a pleasure." She held her hand out, Tom's ex shaking it. "The pleasure is all mine." 

Tom chewed on his bottom lip, eyes dropping to the floor until he felt Chris' presence approaching. He turned on his heels, following the way back to the parking lot, hearing Chris' sturdiest steps following. "Do you want me to get him?" Chris offered, sidling up to him and gesturing towards Henry. 

"No need." Tom shook his head, curls bobbing along. He stared exasperatedly ahead, hastening his steps and adding a quick "Thank you." 

He secured Henry on the backseat again, dropping a lengthy kiss on his forehead, a hand rubbing the scarred line on his scalp. "Take care of him." He said, standing in front of Chris as they eyed each other. 

"You know I always do." Chris spoke, eyes flitting over Tom's face until he squirmed and looked downwards. "She's nice." He continued, when the silence stretched for longer than what could be considered casual. "Elsa." He tipped his head toward the back of the theatre to indicate who he was referring to. As if Tom didn't already know. "She asked for my number." He finished, because he couldn't have left without telling Tom that, of course he had to shove it in his face with some sort of vindictive glee. 

Tom fought his impulse to tears, tightening his lips together and squaring his jaw. He could practically feel the ice daggers his eyes were carving on Chris, but he couldn't help asking "And did you give her?" 

Chris jammed his hands inside his pockets, his eyes fixing somewhere above Tom's shoulder before he sniffled at the cold air and answered with a shrug, "Yes." 

Tom wanted to say something nasty like 'I hope you're happy together' but decided that was just his jealousy talking. "Ah." Tom breathed, his disappointment showing. "Great," he mumbled, twisting his lips. 

Chris' eyes flitted over his face, looking for something that he didn't find, nodding slowly while switching his gaze back to the floor. "Well, I think that's it," he shrugged. "Call me so we can settle when you can get Henry." 

"All right." Tom said, although he felt like he was missing some cue to say something else. "Bye, Chr-" 

Chris kissed his cheek, the movement so sudden Tom was left gaping. "Bye, Tom." Chris said, stepping back, jaw squared. He looked sad or angry, perhaps a mix of both, turning and opening the door to his car while Tom remained glued to the floor as his ex reversed, the engine letting out small clouds of fumes. Tom stood there for awhile, wondering if he had done more bad than good to himself. 

 

~*~*~ 

 

Their separation had to be one of the most terrible phases of Tom's life. The first days were the worst. He had turned into a gloomy shape of silent desperation, his treacherous mind replaying Chris' words in his head, remembering his face and trying to guess the meaning behind every gesture. For how long had he been feeling like that? Had he said that just to spare Tom the bad news that he really wanted to break up? Had he met someone else? The possible answers made him shiver, weeping quietly into his pillow as not to wake his roommate sleeping at the other side of the room. 

On the first weeks, Chris had called him everyday, softly asking if he was okay though Tom always responded in a monotone voice, not managing nor seeing the point in hiding his sadness. Almost as if to prove his point that they weren't completely over, however, Chris insisted on keeping in touch, which Tom secretly looked up to. He sent him pictures of something interesting he had seen during the day, and they chatted sometimes, never brushing the topic of their stand-by relationship, talking instead about the weather or their family or Tom's mother, whom Chris visited whenever he could. 

"How are you coping?" Emma had asked on a Sunday, Tom seated beneath the shade of their favourite tree on campus. 

"To tell the truth," he sighed. "Better than I was before, but it's still excruciating. I just miss him, Emma." 

"Well," his sister said, trying to seep some cheer into him, "It's only for a couple months, right? You'll graduate in...?" 

"Three months," Tom supplied. "And eight days." 

"A lot of things can happen until then," Emma piped in, though the idea didn't sound as warming to him as it did to her. 

"Emma, stop that. I'm not going to meet anyone else. No one is ever going to replace Chris or-" 

"Fine, fine," Emma moaned, on that bored voice of hers that meant she was rolling her eyes. "I'm just saying: give chance a chance. You don't need to act like a mourning widow all the time. Just try to forget about it and live your life, okay? We'll see how it goes." 

Tom loathed to admit that Emma was always right, but sometimes she was. 

His name was Jason and he was doing his masters on Economics. He was younger than Chris was, but similar in appearance. His hair was darker and his smile wasn't just the same, neither were his kisses, which instead of deliciously consuming like Chris', were wet and voracious. Tom had met him because he was a friend of a friend who once got invited into one of their department's party. Tom was, of course, drunk, or else he wouldn't have the audacity needed to make out with someone with his head still in a turmoil over Chris. 

It didn't go farther than some kisses, though, and when Jason called, Tom let his phone ring or sent hurried messages with terribly fake excuses as to why he hadn't kept in touch. Lisa, a friend of Tom's who still thought he was actively dating Chris, had finally spoke her mind after a whole week of giving him the cold shoulder, telling him all about how cheating wasn't nice and that he should tell Chris. Her face reddened like a tomato after Tom explained everything and after apologizing sincerely and rather repeatedly, she advised him into telling Chris anyway, "I mean, I know it's none of my business, but," she shrugged, "If it was with me, I'd like to know." 

Tom had been severely stricken with guilt, the feeling enough to twist his guts in shame and abomination whenever Chris as much as sent him a message asking how he was doing. He felt dirty, cheap, unworthy of whatever little attention Chris still reserved for him. He told Emma after some time, not bearing the weight of his own doings. 

"It's all right, Tom." Emma had said on the phone. She sounded sad, as if despite of her own words and encouragement, she hadn't thought he would actually meet someone else. "I'm sure Chris will understand." 

Tom really didn't share the same opinion, but like usual, kept his mouth shut, postponing the day he would finally tell Chris. Tom knew it had been nothing serious, he didn't even like Jason, he was too cold and demure. But he didn't like hiding it and was too scared to tell Chris so he could have an excuse to finally break up with him. 

 

~*~*~ 

 

Tom had graduated in November, beaming under the flashlights of multiple cameras while throwing his hat up to the ceiling. It felt eternally liberating to be finally free from his academic life, and a little scary too. 

He had hurried to embrace his family, his mother blinding him with a flash right to his face while Emma and Sarah squeaked beside him. He had laughed at something his father had said, struggling with the flaps of his gown when Emma had nudged his shoulder, shooting him a sly grin before stepping to the side so he could see Chris, looking unnervingly hot in a suit, smiling from cheek to cheek. Tom's smile fell. 

"C-Chris," he mumbled, surprised. His parents and sisters were watching and Tom swallowed uncomfortably before gracelessly offering a hug. "Hi, I-" Chris felt perfect, and Tom wanted to cry for how much he missed him and how he couldn't let it show. "I didn't know you'd be coming." 

Chris laughed right beside his ear, Tom's knees turning to jelly. "Surprise!" he said, pinching Tom's blushing cheek when they finally managed to step back. It was not lost on Tom that Chris had meant to joke about the time Tom had meant to surprise him at the hospital, and the memory of that day stung a little. 

He gave a small laugh that sounded weird, noticing that his family had wandered a little to the side to give them some privacy. "Um, yes." Tom said to rupture the silence. 

Chris continued on smiling, hands in his pockets and eyes on Tom. Something about his gaze had Tom blushing, chuckling lightly and looking downwards. "Congratulations," Chris said, trying to attract Tom's eyes. 

"Thank you," Tom murmured. "It's good to be, you know, free." 

Chris laughed. "I get the feeling. It's a little surreal, isn't it?" 

Tom nodded quietly, looking down. He remembered Chris' graduation, how he sat between Liam and Chris' mother, cheering for him like a maniac when his boyfriend accepted his diploma and smiled to the camera. 

"Tom," Chris spoke up, drawing his gaze up. He was pressing his lips together, staring away in a motion Tom had grown to recognize as being his awkward way to express his nervousness. "You're okay, aren't you?" Chris asked, finally, reaching out to touch Tom's waist softly. 

Tom could practically hear the question's hidden aim as it was: 'we're okay, aren't we?' Breathing in, he leaned into Chris' touch, a weight being drawn out of him as they stared at each other, Tom's brows furrowing and unfurling before he gave a spastic, short laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners with the force of his smile. "Yes," he murmured, "Yes, I'm okay." 

Chris looked as jubilant as him, chuckling and smiling in response. "Great." He tightened his hold on Tom, giving the flimsiest step closer. "Can I hug you?" 

"Of course," Tom conceded happily, throwing his arms around Chris' neck, the movement second nature to him. Chris gave as good as he got, tightening his hold on Tom, arms pressing his slimmer body against his chest. "God, I missed you so fucking much." Tom said, voice muffled with the way he tucked his head on Chris' neck. 

Chris laughed lightly. "Me too, baby. It was awful. We're never doing that again." 

Tom sighed against his shoulder, elated. He hummed in contentment, making a promise, "No, we're not." 

 

~*~ 

 

Tom parked in his usual slot that Tuesday, leaning against the car's side as he checked his cell phone. Five minutes until Henry's class would be let out. Sighing, he watched the school's gate lazily. 

It seemed as if it had been yesterday when he had introduced Elsa to Chris, but in reality that was three weeks ago. Tom thought, although that could be just his imagination, that Chris sounded a little bit colder to him when they talked now. Tom didn't know how Chris and Elsa were doing, and he calmed himself with the thought that it was nothing, perhaps they were just friends; so he didn't bother asking after it. 

Last week Henry had said something about a woman when he was talking non stop about the week he had spent with his father. Tom had been too distracted answering an email, and hadn't noticed it until Henry was already asleep on the couch. 

When the bell rang, Henry came running up to him, waving at Scott at a distance. "Hi, papa." 

"Hello, darling." Tom kissed his cheek. "How was class?" 

"It was nice," Henry answered, sitting himself at the backseat and fastening his own seatbelts as Tom took the driver's seat. "But we had a test and then the teacher asked me to read a story to see how my reading is doing and..." 

They continued to make small talk throughout the way to Tom's house, Tom listening more than saying anything as Henry retold his school day. 

"Do you know what there is for dinner?" Tom asked a little after they had arrived, Henry lying on the couch and watching television. 

His son looked questioningly up at him, a finger on his chin as he hummed in thought. "Pasta!" He guessed happily. Tom laughed, "No." 

Henry deflated, "Oh." 

Tom smiled. "I'll give you a tip, it lives in the sea, and sometimes at the aquarium." 

"Fish?" Henry asked tentatively. 

"Yes!" 

They had dinner in the living room, Henry emptying his plate though he had said earlier that he wasn't a fan of fish. Tom was quietly slicing his fish filet while Kung Fu Panda played on the television when Henry turned to him to ask, "Papa, is dad going to marry again?" 

Tom paused. He didn't know when Henry had gotten that idea, it hitting him so suddenly that he found himself at a loss of words. "Marry again, Henry? What do you mean?" 

Henry only shrugged, turning his eyes back to the television. But Tom's heart was left in palpitations, increasing in pace as more and more thoughts entered his mind. Henry was very observant, he wouldn't ask something like that out of the blue. Or perhaps Tom was just exaggerating. Tom cleaned the corners of his mouth with his napkin, containing himself to look calm. "Henry," he called softly, "What did you say, darling?" 

"If dad is going to marry again." 

Tom remained silent for a bit. "If your father wants to then he can do it." 

Henry hummed, looking at his own lap and blinking slowly. He was wearing orange pants and Tom was dying to bathe him so he could have an excuse to take it off. "But he's not marrying you, right?" 

"Henry," Tom began. They had discussed it a thousand times when it was settled that he and Chris were going to divorce. "Me and your father..." 

"I know," Henry cut him. 

"Why are you asking me if your father is marrying again, Henry?" 

Henry shrugged, a pout on his lips. "Uncle Luke said he should." 

Oh. Tom's eyebrows lifted, biting the meat of his cheek to refrain from saying anything. He knew for sure that Luke had to have meant it for Chris' good but he couldn't help feeling a little personally affronted. "You heard him saying it?" 

Henry nodded, "Yep." 

Tom sighed, "You have to stop eavesdropping, Henry. I told you already that it's not polite." 

Henry mumbled a quick "Sorry," and to Tom's happiness went back to watching his movie. 

~*~ 

The phone rang four times before Chris picked it up. "Hey, how is it going? Everything okay with Henry?" 

"Yes, he's great, sleeping now." Tom replied, settling more comfortably on his bed. Henry had just gone to bed. It was late at night and he was surprised to have found Chris still awake though it fit his intentions perfectly. 

"Great, hm- And you?" 

"I'm fine too," Tom sighed, "Listen, Chris, uh, Henry told me something today. And I thought I should ask you personally because you know how he is and perhaps it's a misunderstanding." 

"What was it?" Chris asked, voice louder as he adjusted the phone, sounding worried. 

Tom picked at a cuticle, phone supported against his shoulder, assuming a noncomittal posture though there was no one watching. Sometimes he still thought himself in a play. "He said he heard Luke... He asked me if you were going to marry again." Chris sighed at the other end of the phone, and in the indefinite silence that followed, Tom added, "And said you wouldn't marry me." 

"Tom, forget about it. Luke was here yesterday and Henry heard us talking when I left him at the living room, he got a little obsessed with it, bothered me all night. It's a kid's thing, don't let it get to you." 

"I'm not mad, really." Tom replied, suddenly nervous that Chris thought it childish of him to call and tell him about it. "I'm just asking because he creates some things in his mind sometimes, and maybe he hadn't heard right..." Tom let the sentence die there, it was a dirty trick and Chris had caught up to it. Tom was embarrassed for having to resort to that, feeling like an old gossipy lady. 

"He heard right, Tom." Chris stated firmly. "Was that why you called?" 

"No," Tom was quick to retort, a little whiny. "But I think Henry is confused, he doesn't understand what's going on-" 

"Henry is a five year old child, Tom." Chris interrupted. "If we don't understand what's going on, how do you expect him to?" A pause. "This is not about Henry, is it? Tom, we can't use our son as ways to find out what's going on in our lives. What do you want to know?" 

Tom made a sound to refuse again but Chris insisted, "It's okay, Tom. You can ask me. What do you want to know?" 

"I shouldn't have called," Tom said nervously. 

"Tom..." Chris started, and Tom breathed. 

"He mentioned Elsa some time ago, and it's not what you think, I swear. I was only curious." It almost physically hurt him to blurt that out but when he was done, Tom felt lighter, just waiting for Chris' response with shaky breaths. 

"Tom, I barely know Elsa." Chris replied after a sigh. "Let's make this clear, okay? She seems like a wonderful person, but I'm not interested in a relationship right now. Not with her and neither with anyone else. There." 

Tom felt like a little puddle, all balled up against the headboard as he played with his toes, a tiny, vulnerable puddle with butterflies in his stomach. "Do you promise?" He murmured softly, because he had already incriminated himself, nothing seemed more natural than pushing it further. 

Chris laughed heartily. "I promise, baby." Tom froze, and Chris quickly realized his mistake and mumbled, "Oh, no, sorry, I didn't mean, sorry, I think- It just slipped." He sounded embarrassed, hurried. 

"It's all right." Tom chuckled, twisting a loose thread in his fingers. 

Chris calmed down, taking slow breaths that reverberated funny in the phone line. "Do you want to catch a movie this Thursday? After Henry's school, of course. He's been dying to watch this movie and I still haven't found the time to take him." 

Tom considered it for a moment. "Yeah, I mean, sure. Can you pick me up?" 

"I can." Chris confirmed. "So it's settled. This Thursday." 

"Yes, it is." 

"Okay." 

"Great." 

Silence and Tom chuckled. "Sorry for bothering and thanks for... you know. I have to go, have a good night, Chris." 

"You too, Tom." And a little before he hung up. "Oh, don't forget, this Thursday. Right? See you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that long space between updates! Hope you liked this chapter, though the end was a little hurried. Thanks for reading! :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nauseating fluff...

"Get yourself together, Thomas." Tom moaned, checking his reflection in the mirror for the third time. It was a casual thing, just a movie, nothing to worry his pretty head over but Tom was anxious. Although he didn't want to admit it to himself, the knowledge that Chris wasn't looking into pursuing anything with Elsa left him giddy with satisfaction. Tom felt almost too light sometimes, like his body weighed nothing. He wished he could rein over his emotions, to stopper its rush and bottle it up in a physical and external part of himself, to throw it away and enjoy the notion that he'd never suffer it again. 

Emma had stopped by yesterday, and although he had initially feared Chris had told her about their talk on the phone the other day, Tom was glad to notice his sister was quite happily ignorant. She had noticed something different in him, of course, and bothered him for some time before finally giving up. "You're an enigma sometimes, Tom," Emma had sighed, lips curving downwards as was the rule whenever she couldn't pull something out of him simply by sheer insistence. 

Tom went to wait outside, leg jiggling in impatience as he glanced at his wristwatch every ten seconds. The moment when the front of Chris' car appeared on the horizon, Tom straightened, taking a deep breath and giving some steps back, not wanting to seem like he was waiting though he was, neither that he was eager, though he was. 

Chris came to a stop smoothly in front of his house, and Tom walked around the car to open the passenger door and hop on. 

"Hi," Tom greeted, smiling quickly and darting his gaze to the windshield. 

"Hello," Chris answered kindly, driving off. There was a minute of silence and then Chris sniffed at the air. "Are you wearing perfume?" He asked. 

"Uh-" Tom smoothed a hand down his neck self-consciously. "Yes, I think so," he admitted quietly, blushing. 

Chris smiled, tapping a thumb against the steering wheel before turning to Tom quickly, "It's good." 

"Thank you." Tom laughed, fingering the strap of his seat belt awkwardly. There wasn't much to say in the minutes that followed, but Tom struggled to find a topic, the silence disconcerting. "Uh, and the movie Henry wanted to watch? Which one is it?" 

"Oh," Chris grinned, not taking his gaze away from the street ahead. "It's a super-hero movie," he shrugged, "The latest trend in the children's world." 

"Nice," Tom nodded, risking a sideways glance before staring out his window again. 

They parked in front of the school and waited. Only two minutes until the children would be let out but Tom kept looking at the clock glinting above the console. Outside, more parents and caretakers waited by the gate, but they were inside the car, with Chris checking something in his cell phone and then looking out the windshield again. "Don't you want to wait outside?" Tom suddenly asked. 

Chris seemed surprised, whipping his head around towards Tom. "Um, right, sorry." He made to exit a little shyly, and Tom perceived he had made a mistake. 

"No, I mean, you can stay if you want to. I wasn't kicking you out." Tom was quick to amend, reaching to tug on Chris' sleeve but pulling his hand back uncertainly. 

"No, it's fine-" 

"But you can leave, that is, if you want to-" Tom paused, and they stared at each other before he deflated, chuckling under his breath, eyes pinched shut in embarrassment. "Sorry," he shook his head. "That wasn't-" Chris laughed, and Tom grinned, "That wasn't my finest moment. Sorry." 

"Our finest moment, you mean." Chris corrected, regaining his breath. 

Tom shrugged. "Sorry." 

"Hey, no need to apologize so much. I know you're obsessed with it but it wasn't your fault." 

Tom gasped, "I'm not obsessed with it." 

Chris raised his eyebrows, smirking. "Yes, you are." 

"I'm polite, there's a difference." 

"Well, you're too polite." 

Tom stared at him, playfully indignant. He crossed his arms, huffing and looking ahead. 

"Are you pouting?" Chris teased. 

Tom frowned, reaching for his own lips and finding that yes, he was pouting out of his own volition. "Sorr-" he began, but held himself back, not fast enough though. Chris burst out laughing, and Tom followed him, batting his shoulder lightly, "Stop it." 

But the bell rang and they both looked out the window, the children running out the gate. Chris licked his lips, giving Tom a quick grin before opening his door, Henry already having recognized the car and running up to him. 

"Dad!" Tom heard his son greeting Chris, and smiled as Chris bent to hug Henry. 

"Hey, little boy," Chris ruffled his hair. He had his back to Tom and blocked Henry's view of him in the passenger seat. "I have a surprise for you," Chris continued, and Tom heard as Henry gasped. 

"Really? What is it?" 

Chris groaned when picking Henry up. "It's here." 

Tom stifled a laugh. "Here where?" 

Chris tilted his head to the side. "Here, over my shoulder. Take a look." Henry peeked over his father's shoulder, face broadening in a smile. "Papa!" 

"Hello, darling," Tom smiled, and Chris pulled Henry up to sit on his lap, where Tom could bend and kiss his cheek. Henry beamed, hugging him back excitedly. 

"Where are we going?" He asked, after Chris had managed to seat him properly on his backseat. 

"Why do you think we're going somewhere?" Chris replied, eyeing the street before driving off. 

"We always go out when papa is here." 

Tom smiled, blowing Henry a kiss from the passenger seat. 

~*~ 

The movie was very exciting to Henry but fairly pointless for Tom and Chris. The plot consisted of a young super hero that found himself fighting foes to protect the Earth from a nuclear war, a much visited cliché and also an expression that Henry didn't understand. Tom ate his fill of the popcorn bowl though, missing the crunch of it between his teeth and the buttery taste he just could never get the same way at home. Chris yawned more than once and Tom hid his smile. This was every parents' sacrifice and Tom saw his and Chris' bored looks reflected in a good amount of other couples with children at the theater as well. 

"Wow! Did you see that part when he kicked the man in the face, papa?" Henry shrieked as they exited the room. 

"Sure, sweetheart." Tom truly thought children movies were taking a turn to the violent these days, but smiled though he couldn't remember a single scene on which anyone had been kicked in the face. 

"It was awesome." Henry smiled and Tom thought that at least, it had been worth for seeing his son so happy. 

They ate at a fast food restaurant, Tom sipping a milkshake and stealing some French fries from Chris' tray, not too hungry as the popcorn had stifled must of his hunger. Henry was playing with the toy that came with his food and as Chris finished they stood and made their way towards the exit. 

Tom and Chris were talking quietly while watching Henry in front of them. "Your play finishes tomorrow?" Chris asked. 

"Yes," Tom chuckled. "It was tiring but very good. I'll miss the friends I've made." They were walking slowly when a middle-aged woman coming the opposite way paused, looking at Chris happily and straying to come speak to him. "Oh, Dr Hemsworth, how have you been doing?" She asked, a drugstore's plastic bag hanging on her arm. 

Chris greeted her in return and Tom smiled politely, nodding once to the woman before going to gather Henry who had continued walking ahead. "It's so good to see you, I was having those terrible headaches again..." Tom heard the woman saying to Chris as he approached with Henry in his arms. "But I bought the medicines you told me to-" She said, raising the bag to eye-level. 

"That's great." Chris smiled, sparing Tom a quick look in apology. 

The woman nodded excitedly, opening her mouth to say something when her gaze darted to Tom. "Oh, but I wouldn't want to bother you with that when you're spending the evening with your family. And I didn't even greet your husband, how rude of me!" She said, extending her hand to Tom. 

Chris opened his mouth, probably to correct her, but then Tom, not truly thinking about it, extended his hand and shook hands with the woman. Chris startled, cutting his gaze to Tom, who blushed and stayed silent. The woman didn't seem to notice any of that, continuing on where she had left off. "Oh, hi, how are you doing? And this is your son? He's lovely, lovely!" She said, waving at Henry, the boy smiling shyly and clasping Tom's collar. "You have a wonderful family, Dr Hemsworth," she continued, laying a hand on Chris' shoulder in congratulations. "Your boy is so cute; and your husband too, he looks even more beautiful than in those portraits you keep of him all over your office." She chuckled, swinging her index finger as though teasing Chris for hiding Tom's true beauty. 

Chris' face was beet red, looking at Tom in pleading apology, a mixture of embarrassment and sorrow. Tom, meanwhile, nodded to the woman who continued talking but had his eyes slightly widened, trying to keep his composure when hearing such news. "Your family is beautiful, indeed. Is he an only child?" She asked, pointing at Henry. Chris recuperated his voice to affirm, and the woman cooed. "Ah, I see. Have you ever thought about trying for a second baby?" 

Tom almost choked, swallowing dryly and turning to Chris avidly. "Uh, I- we are not sure," Chris said, and shrugged, staring at the woman and making a visible effort not to glance at Tom. 

"But a second child is the best thing. Do you remember my daughter? She has three children now, never been happier. I always say, children bring joy to every marriage, don't you think?" 

Chris' mouth hung open, at a loss of words. Tom gritted his teeth, and nodded so the woman wouldn't feel so bad though it wasn't her fault. She left after that, claiming she needed to go home and wishing them a good evening. They watched as she left. Chris turned to Tom, seeming about to say something, but Tom was quicker and continued their way to the exit, Chris following wordlessly behind. 

The drive back was silent too, and Henry pouted from the backseat, eyeing them. "Papa?" He asked. 

"Yes, darling." Tom startled, turning to him. 

"Is everything okay?" Henry whispered. 

Tom sighed, reaching an arm to caress his cheek. "Yes, darling, everything's okay, we're just distracted thinking about the movie." 

Henry nodded, turning his attention back to his toy. He didn’t look like he believed them and Tom bit the inside of his cheek. "So, is she your patient?" He asked Chris so Henry would be more at peace. 

"Yes," Chris said, not taking his eyes away from the road. "A bit of an hypochondriac but she's nice. I'll drop Henry by on saturday morning, right?" 

Tom raised his eyebrows, surprised with the topic transition. "Sure," he assented and Chris was suddenly slowing down in front of his house. The car came to a halt smoothly and Tom, staring ahead mutely, leaned to unbuckle his seatbelt, tuning his voice as best as he could to sound noncommittal. "Chris, can I speak to you outside for a minute?" 

Chris sighed with all the resignation of someone who knew was about to be reprehended, nodding and exiting the car to stand beside his door. Tom kissed Henry goodbye and went around to stand before Chris. 

"Listen, I-I'm sorry, Tom. I know I have no right to keep pictures of you and-" Chris paused, flapping his hands inside his pockets at loss of words. "I'm sorry." 

"Oh, hm," Tom mumbled, shifting his weight on his feet. "It's alright, I- I was about to apologize myself for, you know," he blushed. "When she said I was still... I didn't do anything to correct her." 

"You know I don't mind about that, don't you?" Chris said, eyes fixed on Tom, that old and fond gaze. 

Tom just stared at him, disconcerted though he wanted to be mad. He smiled tentatively, flushing and looking down, sparing a last and long exhale. "Right, uh- thank you, anyway, Chris, it was... very good. See you saturday." He spun on his heels quickly, hearing Chris' shouted goodbye and waving faintly. 

Why had he acted that way? Why hadn't he simply interrupted and said they were not married anymore? The excuse Tom had was that he was tired of always including it in the conversation, tired of seeing the other person's smile deflate. But Chris was going to do it, there was no reason why he'd have needed to interrupt. More astounding than that was finding out Chris kept pictures of him all over his office. Did he still cultivate such affectionate behavior? But Tom knew the answer to that. Too much information in a single day. A second child too, lord... Tom couldn't even make himself imagine that. 

~*~*~ 

With both of them graduated, Tom and Chris had rented a small flat in a busy street back in their hometown. The place was fairly close to both their families, near the train station and a drugstore and only one block down the hospital. It was good having a house all to themselves, but the responsibility of running it sometimes ate at Tom. There were bills that needed paying and things that needed fixing, clothes to wash and clothes to iron, furniture to buy and clean; everything needed money and Tom was loathe to waste his precious savings. Chris more than helped him with that, but Tom didn't like bothering him because his boyfriend was too busy with his job at the hospital and finishing his masters. Which meant Tom spent the first months divided between house chores while struggling to find a job, auditioning for several plays and waiting impatiently for a call back. Eventually, he starred in a play - a children's fairytale -, and although he thought his first performance would surely open more doors to him, finding a second, more serious play to star in proved more difficult, and after almost a year living together, Tom still hadn't received any calls back. 

"They will call you, I'm sure." Chris appeased Tom by kissing his temple and massaging his shoulders, sat beside him on the sofa. 

"But I auditioned last month and they still-" Tom sighed, curling into Chris' shoulder and groaning. 

They were having dinner that sunday, watching an old romantic comedy together. 

"Perhaps they just want to keep the suspense." Chris joked, kissing the crown of his head. Tom huffed against his shoulder. "I hate suspense," he mumbled. 

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Really?" 

"Yes." Tom admitted, resting his cheek on his Chris' shoulder and looking up at him, lips quirking in a smile as he ran a hand over Chris' short beard. "I hate this feeling of waiting, the expectation. I'd rather they just told me if I was fit for the part on the day of the audition instead of keeping me in the dark." 

Tom had expected Chris to agree or disagree with him but his boyfriend had changed the subjects. "Do you want to go out for dinner tomorrow? Hn?" He asked, nosing behind Tom's ear. 

Tom hummed. "I don't know..." He twisted his head shyly. 

"Come on, just you and me..." Chris whispered, sending a shiver down Tom's spine, big hands sliding to his tummy to tickle him until Tom was gasping his agreement. 

~*~*~ 

On the next day, Chris had taken longer at the hospital and Tom was left waiting impatiently. He had finished cleaning the flat and sat on the sofa, glancing at the clock every once in a while. 

It wasn't always that they went out, at least not like that. Chris had told him last night - after their little play on the sofa had ended up in a night of sex - that he intended to treat him to some really good food and Tom could only expect he had meant that restaurant in the park, near the lake, where Tom had once told him he found very romantic. 

The phone rang, a startling ring that cut through Tom's thoughts and had him bolting from the sofa. This had to be his call back! 

"Hello," Tom answered, doing his best to hide the apprehension in his voice. A deep voice responded, "Good evening, is this Mr Hemsworth's residence?" 

"Oh," Tom deflated, tightening his hold on the phone. "Um, yes, it is." 

"May I speak to him, please?" 

"He's still not back from work," Tom replied, fighting his impulse to sigh. The poor man had no fault. "Would you like to leave a message?" 

The man seemed to hesitate, humming in thought before asking "Who am I speaking to?" 

"His boyfriend, Tom." 

"Oh," the man paused, and Tom frowned, inching the phone higher in his ear. Who was it? "I can call him tomorrow, but could you please tell him I got him the house at Maple Wood?" 

"Uhm..." Tom mumbled, "What?" 

"He knows what it is. I'll call him tomorrow, though. Thank you, Tom, have a good night." And then he hung up. 

The sound of keys jingling reached Tom, who could only turn his gaze to Chris, hand still holding the phone to his ear. Chris closed the door after him, depositing his keys at a bowl beside the door and whistling. He looked up and found Tom's pale face, eyes scurrying to his position at the phone. "Tom, what happened?" 

"Are you moving out?" Tom asked in a thread of voice. 

"What? What are you talking about?" 

Tom deposited the phone back. "This... This man just called and said he got you a house at a Maple something. Are you moving?" 

Chris, surprised, stayed in silence for a minute. "Maple Wood?" 

Tom nodded, crossing his arms and gulping. "Chris, what's going on?" He whined. But Chris just sighed, massaging his forehead with a hand and groaning. 

"Christopher, tell me!" Tom demanded, voice shaking. 

"It's..." Chris hesitated, biting his lower lip and keeping his gaze firmly away. "It was supposed to be a surprise." Tom gaped, still not understanding. He tightened his arms around himself, watching Chris with wide eyes. "Listen," Chris continued. "I need to speak to him." 

"He hung up already..." Tom mumbled, but Chris fished his cell phone out of his pocket and began dialing, giving Tom a glance over his shoulder before walking farther into the flat, Tom only hearing his muffled voice as he talked on the phone. He wanted to ask what was going on but didn't know how, remaining in place and only looking up as Chris returned from their room, cell phone in his pocket as he took Tom's wrist softly. 

"Tom, I- Could I show you something?" 

Tom peered up at him, acquiescing and nodding. 

~*~*~ 

Tom didn't know where they were headed to, only following Chris' steps as they walked down numerous sidewalks. The sky was darkening, traffic lights sparkling as cars drove back to their houses after another tiring day at work and they walked until reaching a more secluded neighborhood, Chris' hand firmly wrapped around his. 

Chris talked about unrelated things, his day at work, the last phone call he had made to his mother; all in a light voice, as though he wasn't leading Tom to an unknown place. "Chris-" Tom said, "Where are we going?" 

Chris paused on his storytelling, smiling faintly and assuring that "You'll see." 

They went down a street lined with tall trees, Chris stepping up in front of a white fence-like door. Tom stared up at it, the walls around it tall and shrouded in thick green bindweeds. Chris produced a key from somewhere amidst the bushes, and Tom could only stare as his boyfriend fit it into the door's lock, it clicking open. 

"It belonged to an old couple," Chris began speaking. "They went to live at the countryside, leaving the house to their only daughter." Tom followed Chris inside, peering up to see a white house at their right, an ample backyard occupying the rest of the terrain. "Chris..." he gasped, tightening his hold in Chris' hand. Chris smiled, and continued. "But she left to live in another country, and decided selling the house was the best option." 

Chris led him towards the house, a two-floors building with wide and cozy windows, a sand colored roof and vines twisting up the walls. It smelled odd, like it had spent too much time locked. "The broker, the man you spoke to today, got in touch with me about two months ago and showed me the house." 

Amidst the dark, Chris procured a second key, fitting it in the lock and opening the front door so Tom could peek inside. He switched the lights on, yellow lamps illuminating the ambience inside. It had a hall, a wide living room hinting at a dining room by its end, and a door Tom supposed led to the kitchen. 

"Wow." Tom mumbled, taking reverent steps inside. The white floorboards didn't creak when Tom stepped on them, running a hand over the walls. 

"The broker said a family was also interested in it, so I gave them the preference should they want it," Chris said, blushing and all, following Tom inside and switching the lights to show him the kitchen, starkly naked with no utensils except for the empty cupboards, the kitchen counter in the center standing like a lone island. "But apparently, they didn't. And he called today to say the house was mine." 

Their eyes met for the first time since they had entered the house, Tom standing in thunderstruck silence while Chris smiled slowly. "I told my parents, Luke and even Liam before, when I was waiting for the answer. Your mother knows something about it too," he said, with an embarrassed tilt of his head. "Emma and Sarah probably heard..." He smirked, cringing when Tom gasped. "The only one who didn't know-" 

"Was me." Tom finished for him, smiling even though his boyfriend had just more or less admitted to leaving him out of things. "You bastard, when were you going to tell me?" Tom demanded, swatting Chris' chest playfully though he couldn't get his smile out of his face. "If that man hadn't called today and I had answered it, when were you going to tell me?" 

Chris encircled his waist with an arm, leading him back and up a set of high stairs, following a hallway and opening the last door, which led to a spacious bedroom, a door at the corner of the room leading to what had to be a bathroom. Chris pulled him farther, not giving Tom the berth to properly gawk and weep. 

There were sliding glass doors to a wooden balcony outside the room, where the backyard and some of the city's landscape was perfectly visible, the moon big and full above them, painting everything in a pale light. "I was going to tell you tonight, at dinner." Chris said, letting Tom stare up and gap as he stepped away, hand searching his pocket. "When I was supposed to do this." 

Tom hadn't really been listening to him, but when he turned to Chris, he found him there, a suspicious box in hand, kneeling. A sudden cold enveloped him, Chris' eyes luminous under the faint moonlight. 

"Tom," he began by saying, and Tom couldn't help it, he sobbed, bringing both hands to his mouth as his eyes filled with tears, his shoulders shaking, Chris gulping and looking undecided as he continued, "I-I know that maybe it's early or precipitated, and I promise I won't be angry if you say that too, but, we've been together for almost six years now and I know-" Chris' eyes were foggy too, but Tom had always been the more emotional of them, and Chris only sniffed and continued in a firmer tone, "I know I couldn't love anyone more than I love you. Ever. I've always thought it would be a difficult decision but it's not. Thinking about spending my whole life with you brings me nothing but absolute joy and it rests me no doubt that you're the right person for me. The love of my life. You have to know-" Chris paused, shaking his head. "You have to know that nothing in this world would make me happier than this:" he lifted the velvet lid with a finger and Tom gasped, looking away, not daring himself to look until it got the better of him, completely in shock with the silver sparkle of the jeweled ring embedded in the blood red velvet. "Tom, would you marry me?" 

Tom whimpered, his cheeks moist with his tears. He said something that came out too muffled, Chris frowning in question. "Say the whole name." Tom said, laughing when Chris laughed. 

"Right," Chris chuckled. "I'll rephrase it then: Thomas William Hiddleston, would you please marry this poor man begging for your hand?" 

"Yes!" Tom shrieked, falling on his knees before him. "Yes, yes, my love, of course!" They laughed in pure joy, Tom yelping when Chris snatched him by the waist, planting a deep, bruising kiss on his lips.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here: the great 12th chapter! The first part of the difficult mountain we have to climb. 
> 
>  
> 
>  **Warning:** take a deep breath before reading, things almost go to shit, but don't worry, it's just a lot of verbal fighting. Don't panic, everything is under control! I think...

\- 

 

They didn't talk about it, and Tom spent the night flicking some pages of a book, introspective. He thought about calling to know if Henry was already asleep, if he had eaten anything else for dinner, but was reluctant to part with the peace afforded by pretending nothing had happened. He wished he could blame it all on Chris, wanted to call and yell at him, order him to take any damned pictures of his from out of his office, but his heart sang whenever he thought about his face stamped in each corner of Chris' workplace, it mollifying his resolve and just making him want to cry and giggle. 

In the next day he focused on his work. There'd be an after party to celebrate their play coming to an end and Tom had something to look up to, performing with the greatest care and trying hard to believe that this would be the last time. The curtain call was terrific and soon enough, the party began backstage. 

Tom finished getting out of his costume hurriedly, moving to join the party when his phone vibrated in his back pocket. He spent some time talking and accepting congratulations, but at the first opportunity, ducked to a more silent corner to answer it. The caller id said 'Chris', and Tom answered quickly, afraid something had happened with Henry. 

"Chris? What happened?" He asked, though inelegantly; Chris never called when he knew Tom could still be performing. 

"Tom, hi." Chris answered, his voice sounding airy. Tom immediately paled, leaning a hand against the wall and bringing the speaker closer. "Nothing's happened, but... Is your play finished?" 

"Yes," Tom sighed, looking over his shoulder at the people who waved him over. "Yes, it is. Why? Did something happen?" 

"No," Chris replied in a flash. "My parents are here, they came to see Henry." 

"Oh, nice." Tom mumbled, accepting the drink Mark pushed into his hands insistently though he was driving back to his house and wouldn't drink. 

Tom still didn't know the reason behind Chris' call. It wasn't always that Chris' parents could move to stay a few days home with them, but it was nothing to brag about to Tom. 

"They'll be watching him now; listen, can I go and pick you up?" Chris asked, sounding agitated. 

"Pick me up? Now?" Tom asked, dispatching the drink in some lonely table. There was definitely something wrong with Chris, Tom didn't need him to come and pick him up. "Chris, I'm at the after party. My car is here, I'll drive back." 

Chris sounded surprised by hearing that. "Oh, no, but..." 

"Chris, what's going on?" Tom demanded, making an effort to listen to Chris with all the background noise. 

"I need to talk to you." Chris said, not giving Tom the time to say anything to that before he added, "I'll pick you up when the party is over, okay? Just give me a call." 

"Chris, there's no need." Tom insisted. Was that so hard to understand? "You don't need to come pick me." 

"But I need to see you." Chris said, the breathy way his voice sounded over the phone afterwards giving Tom the idea that Chris hadn't been intending to let that escape. "Wait, listen, I'll just stop by, say hi and go back home, I won't drive you back to your house if you don't want to, okay?" 

There was nothing Tom could say to that for Chris' was a very stupid idea. Why bother going all the way there 'just to say hi' and then go back home empty handed? It was a waste of gas, but if that was what would make him happy... "Okay." 

"Great, great, so, let me know when it's over, please?" 

"Right..." Tom frowned, letting Chris say his hurried goodbyes before ending the call. 

"Hey, what is it?" Mark came back to ask him. "You look weirded out." He said, pointing to Tom's face. 

Tom sighed, pocketing his phone. "Some men are very difficult to understand." 

Mark's eyebrows jumped, and he gave Tom a sly grin. "Hmm, so you've got a new boy, Mr Hiddleston?" 

Tom laughed, throwing his head back. "No," he shrugged, heat rising to his face, "No, just... my ex husband." Mark looked impressed upon hearing that, but just smiled and made no further comment. 

~*~ 

True to his word, some minutes before the party was doomed to finish, Tom sent Chris a quick message. He answered with an 'ok', and Tom went back to his friends. Even without the alcohol, the party had been amazing and now only Tom and a few other people remained to talk and clean most of the mess left behind. 

They were laughing and saying their goodbyes at the exit, Mark and the guys walking to their cars. "Hey, Tom, you're not coming?" Mark asked, stopping on his tracks and turning to watch Tom from over his shoulder. 

"Oh," Tom mumbled, staring at the nightly sky and shrugging. "No, I-I'm waiting for someone." 

Mark gave an uneasy smile, analyzing him for a while longer before nodding and going back on his way, raising a hand in goodbye. Tom waved and sat at the theatre steps, watching the fading lights of Mark's car's tailights. 

This was ridiculous, making Tom wait by himself at night for naught. Chris was deranged, perhaps he was prescribing himself some medication, Tom didn't know, but puffed and watched his breath glide away in a smooth white cloud. Winter was stretching its legs already and Tom needed to get to his house and answer a friend of his who had talked about a play programmed for the next season. He'd need to focus on other elements now to be able to audition, forget his character and set his mind free. 

He was eyeing his own shoes when he caught a glimpse of headlights illuminating the pavement, and lifted his head to find Chris' car parking at one of the empty slots. Sighing, Tom rose to his feet and walked to meet him halfway, Chris exiting the car in a hurry and finding Tom's silhouette approaching. 

"Hey," Tom greeted, hands shoved in his pockets as he came to a stop in front of Chris. 

"Hi," Chris said, bending to plant a kiss on Tom's cheek. 

Tom smiled quickly, keeping his gaze lowered. He cleared his throat, "So, hm, you said you wanted to talk?" Chris swallowed, nodding and taking Tom's elbow. "Chris," Tom called but Chris led him gently closer to his car, where he let Tom lean against the driver's door. They stayed in silence for a minute, Chris watching his own feet and biting his lip, looking troubled and hurried, brows furrowed. "Chris," Tom began, slowly and in a low voice, studying his features carefully. "What's going on? You're making me nervous." 

Chris shrugged, seemingly having trouble explaining himself. "I- I just wanted to see you." He looked up, and it was obvious this wasn't everything. 

Tom nodded slowly. "All right." When Chris said nothing else, Tom looked to the side. They were alone at the street, only the lamp posts glowing above them, the night eerily quiet and peaceful. "And Henry? How is he doing?" Tom asked. 

Chris nodded, "He's good, he's good." 

Tom watched him for a moment, suddenly tired of this. Chris was acting very weird, and he waited until Chris' gaze lifted to truly look at him with a serious face, eyes taking in his face and his clothes. "Chris," Tom murmured. "Do you need anything?" 

Chris huffed, as if Tom was the one making it difficult. "I just need to talk to you." 

"You've said that already and yet you're not talking," Tom insisted. "You asked me to wait and I did, but this is ridiculous." 

Chris sighed, carding a big hand through his hair. "Sorry, sorry, I'm not," Another sigh. "I'm not on my right mind today, I've been meaning to talk to you all day because-" He lifted his hand up for a pause, taking a quick breath through his mouth before straightening himself while Tom watched him with expectant and suspicious eyes. "I have a doubt." Chris said, letting his arm fall to his side. 

"What doubt?" Tom asked quietly, eyes flying to their surroundings. There was no one. 

"It's about yesterday," Chris sighed, and those words were enough to make Tom gap. 

"Chris, I thought we'd talked about it when we left the car." Tom tried, "There's nothing else to discuss." 

"Tom," Chris called, imploringly, cupping a hand around Tom's elbow when he made to move. "Please, don't do this." 

Tom's heart rate sped up. This was turning into one of those awful _moments_. 

"Do what?" Tom whined. Chris' hand felt searing hot on him. 

"This..." Chris sighed. "Don't me brush me off." 

Tom swallowed dryly, pulling his arm away from Chris' hand and crossing his arms. He stared at the pavement under their feet, finding it hard to speak while looking into Chris' hurt expression. "There's nothing to talk about Chris," he said, "If you wish to speak about yesterday then I'm sorry because there's nothing." 

He looked up quickly to find Chris' Adam's apple bobbing, intense eyes scanning Tom's face. "You said I was your husband," he blurted. Tom made a sound in the back of his throat but Chris continued: "When the woman jumped to that conclusion you didn't correct her, Tom, I just want to know why." 

Tom's shoulders tensed like he was about to shrug it off, his mouth opening but nothing coming out. He had never thought Chris to be so evil. Tom's mind was clouded by the fierce decision that he didn't want to talk about it simply because he feared it. Trying to force it out of him felt like prying into his very core. It was a pressure he couldn't seem to control, Chris' eyes on him, waiting for an answer when he wanted to do was hide and let it go. He felt like crying, and sure enough, felt his eyes moistening. "I apologized about that already." He insisted, his voice coming out high-pitched and wavery. 

Chris blinked, imperceptibly drawing back as if he hadn't been waiting for such a violent reaction. He seemed about to retreat but his lips tightened and he invested again. "I've been thinking about that all day, it's driving me nuts. I had to ask you, Tom, please, tell me why." Chris put a hand on the car, beside Tom's head and Tom felt trapped. "I don't want to hurt you, I've been respecting your space, haven't I?" Chris continued, but didn't wait for Tom to respond, "But it gave me hope, Tom, and I can't get it out of my head now." 

Chris had no right to do this, and Tom felt something rise up in him, a reaction lighted by a spark. "Why do you keep pictures of me then?" He asked, chin jutted out defiantly. 

For a moment, Chris looked confused, taken aback, and Tom found he had accomplished his attempt to placate him. But in a blink it changed. Chris huffed, smiling as he retrieved his hand. He looked completely calm, in charge of himself, pocketing his hands again and giving Tom a truthful, fond look. "You know why." 

Tom shivered. He regretted making that question now, paralyzed in his shock.He wanted to plead Chris to let it go, wanted this conversation to have never happened. 

"It's always for the same reason, Tom. And you know it." 

"Chris, no-" 

But Chris shook his head, calmly determined. "You asked me to stay away from you and I did, you asked me for a divorce and I did, but I fucking told you it wouldn't stop." Tom could feel Chris' warm breath on his cheek, and something on his face must've alarmed Chris because he seemed to regain himself and retreat a little, continuing on a firmer voice. "We always get back to this point. I try to ignore it but it's always there. I see you and I pretend it's okay but I can't go one day thinking that you might..." He paused, and Tom thought he had ran out of words, but Chris got a hold of his elbows again, eyes glistening as he said in a single breath: "I love you." 

Tom gasped, but he wasn't surprised. He had doubted, like he often doubted too many things, but in a way he had always known, more than simple hope and fear of being discarded, he had known it. Because Chris told him it would happen and the way Chris looked at him had always been so transparent. Tom could say he didn't believe Chris, but they both knew he would be lying. 

"I'll go crazy, Tom, I swear I will." Tom made a faint noise he couldn't interpret, looking down at Chris' hands closing over his elbows. "If there's anything, anything you wish to tell me, if you still..." He sighed, shaking his head, eyes flitting over Tom's face. "Why didn't you correct her?" 

Tom remained still, blinking up at Chris with teary eyes. He was stuck in an inner silence, strangely calm, his heart only clenching slightly when he realized there was only one truthful answer he could give Chris. It wasn't even an epiphany, Tom didn't even need time to think about it. The answer lied on the tip of his tongue. 

Tom sniffled, stalling, but he knew it was useless. Chris waited, eyes fixed on him, and when Tom sighed brokenly, tipping his chin up in determination, he froze. 

With arms hanging off his sides, Tom gulped for courage and prepared himself, melting under Chris' gaze. "You know why." He said, voice surprisingly steady. 

Chris' face blanched, inching his head back like Tom's words had reached to slap him in the face. It was so fast: the lines on his face were suddenly gone, he exhaled, the tension on his shoulders was smoothed away and he looked so light it felt like he would fly. 

Tom let it happen, so he believed he was also at fault. He surged against Chris too, though his back was pushed against the car's side with the force of the kiss, he let Chris tug him closer with all his strength, he opened his mouth to Chris' tongue with a thirst he didn't recall ever possessing, he fisted Chris' hair and kissed back with all he had, his lungs burning with the lack of air. 

They parted once but Chris was on him again before he could utter a single thought, tipping Tom's chin to the side with a caressing thumb, the motion so delicate it send a shiver down Tom's spine and they kissed, over and over, the familiar taste of Chris', white chocolate, the fit of their lips, the swipe of their tongues, curling and twining. Tom's heart was warm, so warm he felt it would burst or melt. 

Chris plunged his tongue in, big arms around him but Tom wasn't resisting. This was all them, their lips and breathes mingled. They kissed for a long time, though Tom couldn't tell precisely how much was that. His lips were swollen, bitten, lungs stinging. And then they pulled back. 

They were panting, and Chris' lips were in similar state to his. Tom could only watch him with wide eyes, wondering what the hell they had done. He felt suddenly embarrassed, ducking his head and hiding his face with his palms. "Oh my god," he stuttered, his fingertips felt cold against his cheeks. 

"Tom, wait..." Chris reached for him but Tom whimpered. 

"No, Chris, Chris, we're- we're adults, we can't do this!" 

Chris looked at him as if he couldn't believe him. "Why not?" 

"Because we are-" 

"Divorced." Chris completed, licking his lips and looking to the side with a huff. 

"Yes," Tom mumbled, growing indignant with Chris' huff. "What? Isn't that enough?" 

Chris shook his head repeatedly, shutting his eyes and carding a hand through his hair. "It's not all," he protested, hands on his hips as he turned to face Tom. "You said-" 

"I didn't say anything." 

Chris blinked, blue eyes flitting over Tom's face. "Oh," he made, pitifully, and there was a gloom in his eyes Tom didn't like. But his nostrils flared when he took in a breath. "So you'll want us to ignore this?" 

Tom sniffles, but he knows his conclusion, though Chris' unnerving stare makes him nod shakily. 

Chris grins ironically, and Tom thinks that's all he'll do before he slams a hand beside his face, making him flinch as he comes closer to whisper. "You know your own heart, Tom. And you've always known where mine lies. It seems unfair that you'd do this to me, to yourself, even." 

Tom shudders. "Chris, please, think of Henry." 

"I am always thinking of Henry. I love him, Tom. He's our son." Chris pauses, and Tom must've made a strange face because he frowns. "Do you doubt that? Will you always doubt my love for him?" 

"No," Tom interferes, because Chris never understood it. "I was scared, you scared me. It has nothing to do-" 

"Are you scared now?" Chris asks, belligerently. Tom shuffles from feet to feet instead of replying. He can still feel the taste of Chris in his lips, and he wants desperately to go home. "You know what makes me mad, Tom?" Chris continued, not expecting Tom to say anything to that before going on, "What makes me mad is that you do things that makes me hope, makes me feel that you want me back: you pretended we were still married, you kissed me back, you said-" 

"I didn't say anything!" Tom repeats himself, and maybe he said that loudly because Chris stops. 

Chris is silent about it, he steps back, takes one look at Tom's face before hanging his head like a scolded child. He doesn't cry, not that Tom can see, only nods his head and looks up again, defeated. "I'm sorry." He shrugs. "I'm so sorry, you're right, this never happened." 

Tom makes a sound in the back of his throat, but steps aside when Chris motions to open the door to his car. "You never said anything, we never had this conversation, I never kissed you and I never said I loved you." Chris continues, brooding, taking his seat behind the steering wheel and turning to give Tom a difficult-looking smile. "If you're telling me you pretend things are fine and it works, then I can do the same. I won't tell you what to do, Tom, you always works things out fine." He turns the key and his car rumbles. Tom gives a step back, watching the asphalt moodily. The night is growing colder and his lips sting with the temperature and their kisses. "Hey," Chris calls, and with a great effort Tom looks up. "Get home safely, will you?" Chris says, reaching to caress his face but hesitating and patting his shoulder. "Tom, let me know when you get home." 

Tom nods, already turning on his heels towards his car before Chris goes. 

~*~*~ 

Emma had screeched upon seeing the ring on his finger. "Mom, Chris proposed!" She yelled back into the house, hugging Tom on the doorway, mouth gaping open while Tom laughed in delight. 

It had been Tom's mother's birthday and he and Chris had gone to her house for the celebration. She came to hug them with tears in her eyes and the news of their engagement had more or less taken the spotlights out of her. Tom spent the whole night showing his ring to at least two dozen people, blush high on his cheeks and a wide smile on his face. He found he loved the feeling of the ring on his finger, admiring it all times of the day, preening in the sudden status it gave him and the happiness it entailed. 

Most of the party guests were also from their family so Tom had a lot to show off, pulling Chris to him and delighting on the slight widening of eyes from the most distant family members who had only heard about his fiancé from his mother's talk. They asked him questions Tom supposed meant to gauge his disposition as a new family member so Tom slid to the kitchen sneakily when they began asking Chris if their blood pressure was too high. He found Sarah there, alone, leaning against the counter and sipping on a rather tall glass of wine. She lifted her eyebrows in way of acknowledging his presence and Tom smiled, getting himself a glass and tipping the wine bottle. 

"Let me guess," Sarah said, "Came here to take a breath?" 

Tom laughed, settling the wine bottle above the counter. "Something like that." 

"This one is strong, be careful," Sarah warned, tilting her head towards the wine. 

"Oh," Tom mumbled, taking a sip. "Thank you." 

They stayed in silence for a minute that was weirdly uncomfortable. It had been some time since he and Sarah had last seen each other and something in Tom told him that for a person to be alone drinking large portions of a strong wine in the kitchen, she couldn't possibly be wishing to engage on a conversation. "You should be careful too," he said nonetheless, "How much have you had?" He shook the wine bottle to find it mostly empty, his ring meeting the green glass with a small melodious clink. 

Sarah smiled tightly, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry, if anything I'm sure your fiancé can inject some glucose in my veins." 

Tom's smile slipped off slowly, and he stared down at his glass. It had been nothing, Sarah was just being playful, but the way she said 'fiancé' was weird. Tom gulped, biting the side of his bottom lip. "Are you mad at me?" he finally asked. 

Sarah huffed, shaking her head. "No, Tom, I'm not mad at you. But... How old are you again?" 

"I'm twenty-four," Tom replied, squaring his shoulders in defense. 

Sarah sighed, "I'm not... I don't want to sound like a jealous older sister, but are you sure about this? The... The marriage." 

Tom blinked, pausing to gap before answering. "Yes, of course I'm sure, I love Chris, we love each other!" It seemed vile that his sister, a person from his own family, would doubt it, would question their decision, their happiness. 

But Sarah only nodded, taking another sip from her glass and shrugging. "It's just that, I don't know, you're so young, and you've met no one other than Chris. I know countless people who married when they were your age and then divorced in less than a year. I'm not saying it'll happen to you..." She sighed, Tom's shocked face probably scaring her. "But I'm telling you to be careful. I'm your sister, I want you to be happy." 

"Sarah," Tom said, sighing on his own. "Do you think I'm something other than happy?" Sarah twisted her lips, shaking her head defeatedly. "Me and Chris, we're not those people, we won't marry only to divorce." He was still convinced that Sarah must be feeling a small portion of jealousy for being the older sister and seeing her younger brother engaged before her, but he could appreciate her care for him, her worries were genuine. "We know each other, we live together," he continued, "We'll continue doing the same thing we've always done-" 

Sarah's eyes suddenly fixed over his shoulder and Tom turned to see Emma there, standing petrified on the doorway, blinking owlishly, eyes flying from him to Sarah. He didn't know how much she had heard. They were silent for a bit until Emma mumbled carefully: "Everything okay here?" 

Tom pressed his lips together, containing a huff and nodding repeatedly. "Yes, we were only... talking." 

Emma gave him a tight smile, assenting shortly. "Tom, I think you should rescue Chris," she said, pointing a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the living room. "And aunt Rose said she still hasn't seen the ring." 

"Oh, right." He said, leaving his glass unfinished above the counter and turning towards Emma, ignoring the look exchanged between her and Sarah. 

Tom returned to the living room, still a little uneasy. He found Chris quickly, taking his arm and smiling to his uncle, who had been talking to him. He rested his head on Chris' shoulder, and Chris immediately ducked to see his face and swipe a thumb over his cheek. "Hey, you okay?" he asked patiently. 

Tom nodded, smiling and accepting his peck on the lips. Chris frowned slightly though, grinning and asking "Have you been drinking?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :') Please have in mind that I'm a nice person and things are okay. There's a new additional tag too, did you see that?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience! As always, I feel there are a hundred things I should say before the chapter, but as always, I forgot most of it. Well, the most awaited for chapter has come! And I can only hope I was able to make it as painless, pleasing and three-dimensioned as it deserved to be. As for warnings, I don't think there's anything too heavy, considering the readers that have come this far without problems. _However_ , if you're a sensible person, the reason for their divorce may be a little shocking. My advice is: take it lightly, they're all good and well in the present and there's still much more to happen in the future. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the reading and sorry for any melodrama!
> 
> Also: Merry Christmas!! :DD

He calls Emma because he can't deal with things himself. She answers on the third ring, voice nasal with sleep and Tom can't blame her, he's calling at five in the morning on a Sunday. "What?" she barks at the other side of the line, on that same tone she used on Tom when they were young and he pulled pranks on her. 

"Hi, Emma." He answers, postponing his next sentence because he's tiredly staring out the window of his bedroom. "I- Are you busy?" Tom asks, rubbing his arm. 

"Ugh, I am sleeping but-" There is a sound similar to a body moving under covers, and Emma continues on a less abrasive voice. "Something wrong?" 

Tom sighs, massaging his forehead with his wrist. "Yes, yes, something's wrong." 

"What is it? Tom, where are you?" She sounds alert now. 

"I'm at my house, I'm okay. Is mom there?" 

"Yes, but she's asleep." Emma pauses. "Tom, what is wrong?" 

Tom groans. "I need to talk to you. Can I visit?" 

"Yes, it's just, like..." A puff, "Very early, but yes. Do you want me to pick you up?" 

Tom opens his mouth, thinks and nods. "I think I'd like that." 

~*~ 

Emma is watching him like he is about to explode any minute now, darting wary eyes to him but looking quickly away when he slowly turns to her in question. She came to pick him up ten minutes ago, in her pajamas still, her hair flattened on the back of her head and Tom would've laughed if her state didn't demonstrate her worry for him. And if he felt like laughing at all. 

Traffic was almost nonexistent at this time, and Emma's leaf-shaped essence thing swung from side to side under the rearview mirror. They were clearly devoid of a topic that wouldn't directly address the big white elephant in the car, which meant they remained silent until Emma finally turned the last right and they were parking at their mother's garage. 

The engine rumbled for the last time before Emma was retrieving her keys, and Tom followed her outside the car. At the door, their mother stood in her green floral dress, a thin coat wrapped around her shoulders, arms crossed as she protected herself from the light rain Tom noticed for the first time was falling. 

"Come," Emma said, softly, a hand on his shoulder as they climbed up the three front steps to the house. His mother smiled, widening her arms which she wrapped around his frame. "Hello, honey," she said, eyeing him worriedly though her smile remained in place. 

"Mom, why are you awake? It's not even six yet." Emma asked, scratching the back of her head. 

"Oh, I heard you leaving and you know me," she shrugged, folding her hands together atop her bosom. "I'm not used to waking late. But do come in, darling, are you cold? I'm making tea." 

Tom sighed, accepting the warmth inside the house and hanging his coat beside the door. "Thanks, mom." 

Emma grinned to light him up, dropping her keys in a bowl beside the door and walking inside in front of him, pajamas pants too long for her and pooling slightly around her feet. Tom toed off his shoes and followed the smell of recently-made tea and warm toasts. Around their mother's round and small kitchen table they sat, Tom analysing the lace tablecloth as Emma eyed him from above the rim of her cup, swirling her teaspoon and blowing on the hot beverage before taking a sip. Their mother came to join them at the table, setting a plate of warm toasts and jam in front of Tom, cupping his cheek affectionately as she took her seat. 

Tom smiled gently up at her, working his fingers around the cup's handle and bringing it up to his lips. They said nothing, and Tom didn't know if they were just acceptive of his silence or were only waiting for him to say something. Gulping down the tea, he cleared his throat. "It's delicious, mom, thank you." 

"You're welcome, darling, see, I made you strawberry jam, is it still your favourite?" 

Tom couldn't help smiling at that. "Yes," he said, sinking his teeth into the jammed toast, chewing and taking another sip of his tea. "And Henry's too," he added, and his mother glanced at Emma before smiling. 

"Good, and-" she paused, serving herself a cup of tea while subtly looking at Emma, as though looking for her support to introduce the topic. "How is my grandson doing?" 

Tom took another bite of his toast, "Fine," he mumbled, returning to staring at the tablecloth, "I suppose." That seemed to make Emma and his mom antsy, the only sound filling the sudden silence the one of the porcelain clinking softly as his mother adjusted the cup over the saucer. "He's with Chris," Tom added, and they looked even less inclined to say anything to that, Emma avoiding his eyes by staring at her tea and his mother eating her toast in silence. "I haven't talked to him since Thursday," Tom shared, and his mother chewed at her toast while watching him, both hands around her teacup before she turned her eyes to Emma. He realized perhaps they didn't know if he was talking about Henry or Chris, and Tom went on. "Not even a phone call. I miss him. Does that make me a bad father?" Tom sighed. "God, I'm such a hypocrite." 

His mother cleared her throat, "I think I'll make some cookies," she said, big smile on as she took a gulp of her tea and rose. "Emma..." she trailed off, and Emma nodded. 

"Come, let's go to the living room, Tom," his sister said, standing from her seat and retrieving her teacup. "Bring your toasts." 

Tom pressed his lips together, sighed and nodded, taking his cup and plate in hands and following Emma to the living room, his mother patting him on the back reassuringly. 

Emma flopped on the sofa in front of him after putting her cup on the coffee table between them, leaning against the sofa's arm and watching him passively. Tom took a deep breath, following her example and leaving his tea and toasts at the coffee table, leaning back on the sofa across from her, hands running up and down his thighs as his eyes immediately flew to the pictures hung on the walls. He saw his mother had finally taken off the photo of him and Chris with Henry from the wall. 

"So..." Emma began, watching her own curling toes before lifting his gaze to him, non-judgemental. "What happened?" Tom sighed, preparing himself. "Did you two fight again?" 

He chuckled humourlessly, and Emma seemed to understand it as the affirmation it was. She didn't ask for it, staring at him rather blankly, but Tom began elaborating. "Friday," he gulped. "It was my last day in the play. He called me, said he wanted to talk to me and that he'd stop by once the after party was finished," Emma raised her eyebrows to that, but let him continue, "He sounded hurried, like... like after I asked for the divorce, do you remember? He sounded the same way." He sighed, "Well, I texted him when it was over, waited for him, and then he showed up." Tom shrugged, eyes focused on his teacup, forcing his brain to think and come up with the words needed to continue. But it wasn't necessary because Emma piped in. 

"And you fought." She said, sounding unsurprised. 

Tom scoffed, staring away. It was not that simple. "You don't... You don't get it, Emma. We fought, but," He shivered, just the memory of it... "God, Emma," Tom shook his head, lips snarled because he didn't know if he should cry or smile. "We kissed. A lot." 

A beat, two beats. "Wow." Emma breathed, eyes round on him, even straightening her position on the sofa. 

"Yes," Tom murmured, scratching the back of his head. "It was very... very wow." It sounded weird to confess that, Tom felt slightly embarrassed, he should have more self control than that. 

"And then," Emma said after some time spent watching him in silence. "And then what happened?" she asked, carefully. 

"Then..." Tom breathed in, looking down at his own fingers resting on his lap. There was no ignoring the question, and Tom felt tender inside, remembering Chris' face that night, so close to his own, the spark in his eyes, the warmth of his body, the way he confessed his feelings to Tom. "Then he said he still loves me." His brave, brave Chris. 

Tom doesn't look up immediately to gauge Emma's reaction but after a moment of quietness he finally does, and finds his sister smiling. "Tell us something we don't already know, Tom," she says, bemusedly. 

Tom feels strangely proud, and manages to smile softly before the whole conflict going up in his mind returns. He takes a brief sip of his tea, lukewarm by now, and hears Emma shifting in the other sofa before she questions him. "And what did you say to him?" 

Tom sighs, letting the back of his neck fall against the sofa's cushion. "I- What could I say, Emma? What was there to say?" 

He can practically hear the engines working in Emma's head, and shifts his gaze to her, his sister staring at the floor with twisting lips. "What did Chris say then?" 

It's troublesome to try and remember, the memory of Chris' face is still imprinted on his mind. Tom can feel his nose starting to run, and sniffs. "A lot. He, he just generally said how-" Tom staggers, his chest feeling out of air when he finally realized what he was about to say. Emma, who had been eyeing a toe, raises her eyes to him with interest. "How he missed me," Tom says, but avoids eye contact, "And that- he couldn't stop thinking about how there was still hope." 

"Hope of...?" Emma drags, head tilted to the side, waiting for Tom to complete her sentence. 

"Of us," Tom confesses, biting the side of a nail. "Getting back together." 

Emma whistles, eyes resting on the flowery carpet. Her face looks serious, lips clipped. It's obvious something's bothering her, Tom has known his sister long enough to be able to recognize the signs, the way she avoided looking him in the eyes, the paleness of her face, her fingers busying themselves with taking chips of old nail polish. Tom says nothing, instead takes a bite out of his toast, which falls flat in his belly. 

"I-" Emma clears her throat. "May I say one thing?" She asks, holding her index finger for emphasis. 

Tom nods, hearing the rain pour heavier outside. But Emma opens her mouth, and despite his earlier assumption, he finds himself thoroughly interested in what she has to say. 

Emma licks her lips, sucking on a teeth before beginning. "It was never my intention to have you and Chris reuniting," Tom's head snaps up at that, a sudden frown on his brow. Emma must sense his reaction, but doesn't meet his eyes. "I just wanted you two to talk because, well," she shrugs one shoulder, embarrassed, "you have a kid, a small kid at that, and believe it or not you and Chris were in a state that left me and mom worried." Emma pauses, huffing before raising her gaze to meet Tom's. "You didn't talk, you only fought, and little Henry was being dragged from one house to another without understanding what was happening." The memory makes Tom's heart clench, and he wants to absolve himself from the guilt he suddenly feels for it. "I mean, you remember what it was like didn't you? In the beginning, before you made Chris sign the papers?" Emma asked, and it was Tom's turn look down. 

Of course he remembered. But Emma, as an outsider, had another view of what had happened: Tom couldn't stand having Henry living with Chris and Chris couldn't stand not seeing them. So Tom would get Henry and his things whenever Chris was at work and take him to his house until inevitably Chris would come back to find their house empty. Which only led to him driving to Tom's to get them back but Tom insisted Henry would stay with him, and this went on until Chris' family finally managed to convince Chris to sign the papers, that way they would have to share Henry's custody, Chris would have legal rights over Henry and Tom would be forbidden to keep their son from seeing his father. It still makes Tom shake to remember it, both in shame and in regret. 

"Do you know what it reminded me of?" Emma asked, taking Tom out of his stupor. His sister grimaced, leaning forward and risking a look over her shoulder. "Of us, Tom," she said in a whisper, afraid their mother would hear them. "When mom and dad divorced. I looked at Henry and I saw you and me and Sarah, only made worse because he's by himself. You had me and Sarah back then, but your son has no one going through the same as him. And he was four." Emma sighs, and it doesn't make Tom feel better. But his sister leans back and shrugs before continuing, twisting the hem of her pajamas pants. "I have to admit, me and Chris, we talked a lot," she pauses, looking up at Tom with squinted eyes, "and we came to the agreement that I'd softly and quietly make you more amenable to him so you could talk, so you could work together to raise Henry in a healthier ambience," Tom gaps, but Emma isn't finished yet. "That's why it felt like I was pushing you." She sighs, and wriggles her hands in exasperation so Tom will let her talk. "I know you feel like I stuck my finger in your business but you have to understand, it was for your good, you and Chris talk now and it's wonderful, Tom." 

So they were a mob, Tom thinks, but Emma deflates suddenly, lips downturned. "And Chris, Tom," she gulps, "Chris is very, very worried. H-He talks to me, I know. And I know of his feelings towards you, everyone does, he never hid it. But, he feels like you hate him, Tom. So I'm sorry if in the middle of all of this it looked like I was pressuring you to go back to him, I'm sorry that he had hopes you'd get back together, it was not my intention. Chris promised me he wouldn't use it to make you like him again, so I think that, if he said that when he went after you, it must be because he loves you very, very much." Emma spares a look down at her lap, and Tom is silent all the while. "Still, he shouldn't have done that," she admits. "But I'm sure that if you tell him what you told me the other day, that you forgave him, I'm sure you two can go back to being friends, Tom." She looks up at him, pleading. "Chris will understand that your feelings towards him have changed, I'm sure. You just need to talk to him and tell him everything, Chris will never force you to be with him again now that he knows you don't want it. It's for Henry, solely." Emma insists, slightly out of breath. It's strange to see his sister in such a state, her enthusiasm is never so plaintive, and the way she speaks too, blaming herself for Chris' behavior. Tom doesn't know what to think of it, still stuck on the last part of Emma's speech. 

Oh god. She had gotten everything wrong. 

What assailed Tom was not Chris wanting them to go back together; what assailed him was that Chris wanted to go back together _and so did Tom_. But _he couldn't_. And _that_ was the worst thing that he could've happened to him, _that_ was what he tried to hide, to avoid, to forget. Restlessly but uselessly so. 

For a moment Tom doesn't want to tell his sister that. Let her think he was strong, that he wasn't weak, precipitated to make assumptions too early and convince himself of it only to suffer by the hands of his own stupidity in the future. 

Tom has always been his only and greater enemy and the rush of such a realization hits him like a slap to the face. His next breath leaves him, "You don’t understand, Emma." 

His sister looks up with an inquisitive face. "What?" 

"That's not my current problem," he shuts his eyes. 

Emma seems to need a minute to absorb that. "What's the problem then?" 

Tom sucks in a breath, and isn't fazed in the slightest when he says the truth: "The problem is that I love him, Emma. I still do. Unconditionally." 

Emma blinks at him, and once she notices he's serious, her mouth drops. There's silence, and then Emma is babbling, "I-I don't understand, Tom, bu-but you said-" 

"I lied." 

Emma looks indignant and confused enough to come shake him by the shoulders, but all she manages to do is to spit a loud "Why?" that has their mother poking her head into the living room before returning to the kitchen. 

Tom checks she's gone before coming up with an answer. There are so many things inside him that he needs to waste some time trying to understand himself, to resolve the puzzle that he is and try to make sense of his actions backwards. He said he hated Chris, and apparently, everyone, including Chris, was under that impression. But why did he lie? "Because I was scared-" he begins, but Emma is quicker. 

"You told me things weren't fine between you two before the-" 

"They truly weren't," he puts in, saving himself some time while his sister simply stares at him, "but they weren't unsolvable either. I was- I was wrong, Emma. And I realize it now after having done all this _shit_ in our family." It pains him to say that, because now he sees. He has put the pieces together, he knew now why he had asked for the divorce. A series of misfortunes put together with his fear. 

Emma looks terribly confused, and he'd give it to her, he has made a mess, an incomprehensible mess. No wonder Chris' family is still averse to him. He had made himself the villain of this play, and played every scene, bit by agonizing bit, perfectly. 

"Thomas, I'm not... understanding anything. Tell me. Everything, since the beginning." Emma states with a snarl, fiercely, and Tom almost draws back. 

"All right," Tom sighs and licks his lips, rearranging himself on the couch for a more comfortable position. And starts. 

"We were doing fine. Chris was doing splendidly at the hospital, I was receiving several emails for auditions, Henry was at school. We used to spend every waking minute together, when we were not working, of course. We'd dine out with friends and make small trips during the weekend whenever the mood struck." He smiles, remembering everything, the peace. "It was so sudden but so slow at the same time, Emma, just these things that happened that'd leave me nervous and angry-" 

"Tom," Emma raises her palm to stop him and he uses the moment to gather himself. "Just tell me the story, please, the facts." 

He nods, and regains his breath. "My manager called me one day. There was this beautiful masterpiece to be played in New York. The casting, the story, it was amazing. If it were anything else, I'd have said no immediately, because he knew I was married and had a young kid. Instead, I told him I'd think about it, and then I told Chris. He was _so_ supportive," Tom looks up at the ceiling, his eyes fogging, "at first." Across from him, Emma leans forward to hear, attention piqued. "I told him I was uncertain because Henry was still so young but he assured me he would handle it if I really wanted to go, said he'd get a babysitter-" Tom swallows, and feels his face scrunching up. "I was so excited. I called them back and said yes. I began packing, and Chris said he'd shorten his hours at the hospital while I was away. He found a babysitter, a young French thing, everything was settled." 

Tom pauses for his tea, but it's cold now, and Emma is anxiously awaiting for him to continue, which he does. "My plane was supposed to leave on a Friday. Came Monday night, Chris was putting Henry to sleep when he turned to me and said I shouldn't go. I was so shocked, so confused. He told me someone had retired or left the hospital, I didn't understand, but he couldn't shorten his hours and he had already talked to the babysitter, it was so... _weird_. But at the time I thought nothing of it." He scratches his cheek. "You know, Emma, when you have a young kid at home and have to work in another country for months and your husband tells you there's no one to be with him, your priorities change in an instant. I flew to the computer, forwarded an email to the entire crew, apologizing publicly. They were counting on me, and I abandoned it with less than a week of warning." 

"They said it was all right, that they understood, but it's not... the same." Tom sighs, "Anyway, I was very disappointed, but let it go. And then, in the next week, we were having dinner at Chris' mom's house when Chris said he wanted to start his doctorate." Tom remembers it, the casual dinner with Luke, Liam, Chris' parents and the rest of the clan, Henry eating with his cousins in the living room and Chris suddenly turned to Luke to say he had been thinking about it. "I wanted to punch him, Emma, because Chris had told me nothing. I was silent during the whole meal and of course he noticed I'd listened, but when I finished I got up to watch Henry with the children and left him at the table." 

"I know it may sound egotistical, but the point is his doctorate sucks up all of his free time. When Chris is working it's like," Tom shrugs, feeling bitterness in his mouth. "He's in another country doing a play, for example. Do you see?" 

Emma looks revolted, Tom can tell by the pinch of her brows, but also uncertain, which he can tell by the twist of her lips. It is a strange mix of feelings the one she seems to have, but Tom goes on. "He said I shouldn't go to New York because he was thinking about himself, Emma. Because he wanted his doctorate and he wouldn't get it if there was no one home to be with Henry. The babysitter was me." 

"That's... very assholy of him." Emma admits, but it doesn't bring Tom much reprieve. They were old sorrows, anyway. 

"We never fought much, I mean, we didn't use to back then, but we did that night. I was pissed off, and there wasn't much Chris could say to defend himself because it was so obvious. In the end, he said he wouldn't do it so we'd be even. He apologized, bought me flowers and did my every whim until I was called by the same director for another play in here. We agreed he could do his doctorate when I was done, and so it was. Everything fell back into place." Tom rests his head on his hand. "Or so it seemed." 

"Was that when-?" Emma begins by asking and Tom nods before she has the time to finish her sentence. 

"Chris started his doctorate and he was always very busy," Tom tells her, quickly wiping away a tear from his cheek. He wasn't full out crying, but it made him sad no matter. "Although I told him I would stand it, it was difficult. I could only get my hands on him during the weekends, and even then I had to share him with his computer." 

Tom pauses, it feels like a lump formed in his throat. He doesn't like retelling this story, and realizes now this is the first time he's actually doing it, telling his version of it in full detail. "Henry was growing beautifully," he regains with some effort, "I took a break from the theatre to stay home with him just like me and Chris had agreed. I spent all days sending him pictures of us." 

Emma lets him talk, only nodding in encouragement. It must be visible how difficult it is. "It was a Saturday. When I woke, Chris was already in his computer in our room. It was nothing, I kissed him, said good morning and promised I'd make him some breakfast. Henry was asleep," Tom grits his teeth and Emma shoots him a compassionate look. "I went to his bedroom and he woke up when I entered. He asked after his dad, and I told him he was working so he should be careful not to bother him." 

"I went downstairs, Henry and Chris remained in their rooms. I was making breakfast, Emma," Tom sniffles, a hoarseness coming to his voice. He has always hated crying. "Scrambled eggs. I remember the smell of it perfectly, it gives me nausea to remember, so strong. I heard Henry, heard him upstairs. He was running in the hallway. I was always so nervous when he ran, so I showed up at the bottom of the stairs and told him to stop. But Chris was there- Chris was there with him, he said he'd watch him. Chris was playing with him in the hallway and they looked so happy." 

"I went back to the kitchen," Tom continues, and Emma makes to stand up with a low 'Tom'. "I was fine, I was great. They were laughing upstairs. And then-" It's strange, because Tom involuntarily replays everything he had been trying his hardest to forget but never could. The whole scene unfolding in his mind. The sights, the smell, the feel of it is just the same as it was on that day. "Then Chris shouted, and I knew, Emma, I knew it. I dropped everything, I don't know how I got there so quickly but it was useless." 

Emma comes to his ail, softly patting his back as she took the seat beside his. "Henry had fallen down the stairs and I looked up and there was Chris, at the top. His face so, so demented, I wanted to kill him, Emma. Why wasn't he more careful, why?" Emma makes a shushing sound beside his ear and Tom takes some comfort in that, breathing in and out slowly. 

"It's okay, Tom, it's over," she tells him. 

"But it wasn't okay, I was- I was mad. I looked down and Henry was bleeding, I was so desperate, there was so much blood. It was the head, I knew it because Chris told me head injuries bleed the worse. I felt like my heart would stop, Emma." Tom collects the tears at the corners of his eyes with his fingertips, he can feel his nose running, swollen, but he doesn't mind. "I screamed, told Chris to help me and he just stood there like a goddamn mummy, a statue, petrified while I wrapped everything I could around Henry's head." 

Their mother pokes her head into the living room again, stands there for a minute until Emma does or says something Tom isn't quite able to get and then she's nodding and returning to the kitchen, sending Tom a small smile. 

Emma is patient with him, her smile commiserate but eyes a little red. "Henry was unconscious," Tom says, feeling surprisingly lighter after having told it. "My little baby was asleep," he sighs, and it's good. "I thought I had lost him, I thought he was dead. Chris managed to call an ambulance after what felt like a whole century. I showed up at the hospital entrance with Henry on my lap, he was all blood. You had to have seen the nurse's face, I thought her eyes would fall." Tom is staring ahead, and he even smiles when Emma kisses his cheek. "I told Chris he had killed him." 

"Oh, Tom," Emma makes, quietly. 

"I was awful to him," Tom concedes, leaning against Emma's shoulder. He's better now, he isn't crying anymore. It feels much better to have let that go. "They had to give Henry nineteen stitches. They put him in a room to monitor his state, make sure he wasn't affected anywhere else. I didn't allow Chris to come in to see him. And then it started. I couldn't stand being close to him, I would remember his face at the top of the stairs, the guilt, Emma. He had a guilty face." 

"It was an accident, Tom," Emma says, voice so soft beside him. Her finger is drawing circles on his shoulder. "It wasn't Chris' fault." 

"I know that now," Tom admits, "Only now, Emma. I made him suffer, and for what? I was so scared, suddenly I saw our lives threatened. I remembered what he had done to me when he said I shouldn't go to New York, and though he had apologized and admitted his fault, I started thinking horrible things, that he didn't love me, neither me nor Henry. I told him I wanted the divorce, and I think he didn't believe at first. No one thought I would actually go through with it. Leonie called me, said we should go to marital counseling, it was useless. I wanted the divorce, but Chris said no. So I got myself a house and started packing. Chris pleaded, and I denied him. I took Henry with me, and then Chris finally decided to sign the papers. His family grew afraid of me, they thought I'd run and take Henry with me." 

Emma listens in silence, patting his back comfortingly. 

"And that was it. We signed for shared custody, and began our new, divorced life apart. I thought it was my salvation, and it felt like it for perhaps the first two hours. But then I realized what it was, it was a shit, Emma. Don't ever do that to yourself, don't hurt and stay away from the person you love for pride or, or anything else. It's not worth it. Nothing is." 

Tom clears his throat awkwardly, gaze shifting to the wall. 

"What did you and Chris talk about?" Tom finally asks in a low voice. He has always wanted to know. 

Emma pats his cheek with a small, smart smile. "That's not up to me to tell you." 

Tom grunts, "Emma, please..." 

But Emma shakes her head calmly, looking down at him with amused eyes. "You need to tell Chris that, you know. All of this you told me now, Chris deserves to know." 

"It's not so simple." 

"I can bet it isn't," Emma grins, "But it only grows worse with time." 

Tom isn't sure what he'd say to that, but was fortunately interrupted when their mother showed up holding a plate of cookies. She doesn't bat an eye at Tom's no doubt red rimmed eyes, and strides up with confidence to set the plate at the coffee table. "Who wants some happy cookies?" she asks, and Tom can see she drew smiley faces on them. He chuckles, and gets one for himself. 

Emma eats with him, their mother taking the now vacant seat across from them. The mood lifted, a stark, bright contrast considering the one they were in at Tom's arrival. Emma leans to whisper something in his ear. "I can call Chris," she says, and Tom's heart beats faster. He turns to look at her, and his sister simply lifts her eyebrows. 

Tom isn't able to answer, though he knows what his answer will be. Apparently, so does Emma, because she beams and ruffles his hair before getting up to "change clothes". Tom can feel the tip of his fingers tingling in nervousness, and maintains a small talk with his mother until she returns to the kitchen carrying the empty plate. Emma comes back in more casual clothes, and slumps down at the other side of the couch with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She doesn't say anything, probably sensing Tom is dying to ask, and turns on the television so they can watch some news while waiting. 

Ten agonizing minutes go by, Tom hugging a couch pillow against his belly as though protecting himself from who knows what. Every noise makes him startle, thinking it's Chris approaching. "Emma," he murmurs to get her attention, and his sister turns to him. 

He doesn't need to ask because Emma is already assuaging him, "He'll leave Henry at his parents' for a while, and then he'll come." 

Tom nods, paying half a mind to the news as they are told in the television. The rain pours outside, and the sound of it muffles any other noise coming from outside the house. It leaves Tom antsy, because he won't be able to hear when Chris shows up. Emma looks distracted enough, twirling her hair in a finger and laughing at the host's joke. Twenty minutes go by, and they're talking about the rain now. Chris has never taken so long, and Tom begins doubting he was actually coming. And if he did, what would Tom say anyway? Why had he let Emma do that? 

He freezes when he looks at the television and from the kitchen he hears his mother speaking, followed by a deeper, way too familiar voice that makes his insides coil. Chris. He hears the door closing, Chris' short laugh as he talks to his mother. Emma is watching him from the other side of the room, and as Tom swallows and shifts closer to the couch's edge, she smiles and stands up. He can hear Chris and his mother talking but can't quite discern their words. 

"Actually, Emma..." he heard Chris saying, and Emma saunters to the kitchen. Tom stays there, at his mother's living room, alone, Emma having turned off the television, probably so he and Chris could talk without a distraction. 

There's more talk in the kitchen, and all too soon Chris shows up at the threshold. Tom cut his eyes up to him, owlishly staring at his form, occupying such a sizeable part of the room. Chris looks taller almost, in a fluffy coat, holding a wet beanie in his gloved hands, hair short and ruffled. He seems to bring a gulf of warm air with him, or perhaps that's just Tom's impression. 

"Hi," Chris says, followed by a gulp. 

Tom takes a moment to answer. "Hello," he says, eloquently. 

Chris twists the beanie in his hands, looking down at his fingers with a gaping mouth, unsure about what he should say. There's a different tension between them now; before, they didn't know what the other was up to, which left them both nervous. But now, they know they have to solve everything between them, so they approach each other timidly, with hunched shoulders and expectant eyes. "Emma-" Chris drawls, "Emma said you'd like to talk." He finishes, with a small tilt of his head that is meant to indicate Emma. 

Tom nods, gaze shifting to the floor before falling on Chris again. 

"I left Henry with my parents," Chris says. 

"Emma... told me." 

Chris nods, "Good." 

He's still standing in the same spot, licking his lips, which look chapped. They're both startled when Emma pokes her head beside Chris, watching them both quickly before smiling. "I'm taking mom out for shopping, you two will be okay here, right?" Chris makes a low 'oh', and they both nod robotically. "Great. Chris, there are warm cookies in the oven, and tea too, but I think you'll need to heat it a little." 

"Oh, no, I'm fine, Emma, thanks." Chris replies politely. Emma smiles tightly and turns to leave. They both hear her steps as she and her mother close the front door. Chris turns back to Tom, shrugging slightly. It's so weird to be left at the house, to talk, by themselves. 

Chris remain where he is, playing with his beanie, and it suddenly makes Tom very nervous. "Uhn, you can... sit. If you want to." Tom says, tilting his head in the direction of the seat across from him where Emma had sat just an hour ago. 

"Uh, thanks." Chris takes the seat, and his eyes quickly fly to the wall, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile before softening and falling. He had probably seen Tom's mother had taken out the photo of them. 

"Chris," Tom feels compelled to call, and Chris turns his eyes to him. "What did Emma tell you? ...Exactly?" 

Chris shifts in his seat, spine straightening, legs falling open as he rests his palms on his knees. "She said you were here and that, you had come to a conclusion and," he bites his bottom lip, "And you wanted to tell me about it." 

"All right," Tom agrees, and stares at the space between his feet. How to start? 

"Are you okay, Tom?" Chris asks, interrupting his thoughts. 

"Yes, yes, I'm good." Tom nods, tapping his fingers against the couch's arm. "I... I had an epiphany, sort of, and..." Chris looks up at him, eyes brilliant, and Tom almost falters, voice coming lower. "I think I made some mistakes," he sighs, letting his eyes fall shut. "With us, Chris." 

There's a minute of silence. "I'm sorry about the kiss," Chris says, and Tom feels heat rising to his face, eyes opening. 

"Ah, no, I mean," he scratches at his cheek to hide it, but it just intensifies. "It's not about that. Completely." 

Chris nods shortly, an altercation of emotions on his face that works somehow to give him a vulnerable aura. "I was talking to Emma and," Tom licks his lips, glancing up at him, "I told her about us, our history, that is." 

There seems to be nothing Chris needs to add to that, so Tom forces himself to continue. "I think I know what went wrong between us. I think it was me." 

Chris inhales sharply. "Tom, no, it wasn't yo-" 

"Chris, please," he says, and wipes at his eye with the back of his left hand. "I went paranoid over something that wasn't your fault. I blamed you without giving you a chance to redeem yourself. I threw away our opportunities to make it better simply because I thought I should despise you." 

Chris is frowning, and he shakes his head. "Tom. Don't say that, I should have-" he trails off, running a hand through his bristles. "If I had paid more attention to Henry-" 

"It was an accident, Chris." Tom cuts in, and Chris looks up at him, eyes round. "It wasn't your fault. We couldn't have done anything to stop it. If you had paid more attention, if I had stayed with Henry instead of going downstairs... we can't focus ourselves on the 'ifs'." 

Chris is looking at him in a way that makes Tom shy, and he shrugs before continuing. "I wanted someone to blame, and I blamed you, because you were there and because I wanted to give you a reason to regret working so hard to the point you almost forgot about us. That is the sad and ugly truth." He sucks in a breath. "I wanted to make you see you were losing your time with us and I pushed it too far. I'm sorry." 

Chris' mouth is open, possibly looking for words with which to answer that with. Tom sniffles and adds "Emma called you because she wanted me to tell you that I forgive you." 

"Oh, Tom," Chris gasps, huffing out a part sob and part laugh. "That's-" he shakes his head. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that. No idea." 

Tom smiles, for good, and hides his face when a tear slips. "Sorry," he murmurs, but Chris is suddenly standing and taking the seat beside his. It's clear he doesn't know if he should touch Tom, and indeed he keeps his hands to himself. Tom smiles at the comfort it represents. "I'm sorry, Chris." 

"It's okay, I forgive you, Tom." Chris assures him, and there's a quaint, warm quality to his smile. "I always will." Tom looks up at him, and it's so good. To finally look him in the eyes knowing they are okay, not with the old stubbornness from before, when he would look at Chris as in ways of convincing himself his ex was a bad person. Why did he take such a long time to see it? Why had he waited and waited when happiness was this close to him? 

"It's fine now," Chris says, and it also feels like a question, the way he looks at Tom for confirmation. "We're okay, right? Let's not think about that anymore. We have Henry, and he's the most important thing in our lives." 

Tom blinks, nodding quietly and looking at Chris. Chris smiles the half-moon smile, and Tom feels an urgent need to lean against him, but there's still something he hasn't been able to tell yet, and from the look in Chris' eyes, he notices his ex is not completely happy, a quiet angst lingering behind his eyes. Like Emma, he thinks Tom is only interested in friendship. And he's accepting it, he's accepting anything Tom is able to give him. But there's still _so much more_ Tom is willing to give. If only he knew. 

Chris makes to stand up, but Tom clasps a gentle hand on his coat. He stares down at him, surprised, and Tom fixes his gaze to the floor. "Chris, I- It's not. I'm not finished yet." 

Patiently, Chris nods, surprise and fear taking place in his face. Tom doesn't know how to start saying what he's about to say, neither does he know where he took such courage to actually approach this subject, the one he had so tirelessly made himself promise he wouldn't one day need to say. It's different, this sort of confusion, the anticipation of finally mending what he had once broken. 

"Chris," he begins, holding his breath for two seconds before letting it go. He makes himself look Chris in the eye for all that he wants to hide. "You know I'm not very good with decisions, I never make the right ones." Chris deflates a little bit, and Tom is quick to lick his lips and reiterate. "But I think, I think I made the right decision by marrying you. I really do, Chris." 

Chris opens his mouth, staring at Tom as though he can't quite believe in what he's listening. 

"When I said yes at the alter, when I chose to have a child with you, I was doing the right thing." Tom says, nodding repeatedly to Chris, whose response is a slow forming smile. "I regret asking for the divorce. My feelings are the same as they have always been since the day I married you. I feel- I feel perhaps they've only grown stronger." He's not ashamed when his voice breaks. And Chris, Chris looks jubilant enough to light a city with his smile. 

"I love you," Chris spills, throat bobbing and eyes wet. Tom laughs, shortly though, because Chris grabs his hand in his, tightly, and Tom feels suddenly so shy, cheeks red. They don't really say anything else, but the feel of Chris' hand in his, the twine of their fingers, it all makes Tom giddy, the gesture so heavy in meaning that he feels his ribcage is about to burst. And this is how Emma and his mom find them when they come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you reading! I can't wait to hear your thoughts on it! (but please, be nice)
> 
> Happy Christmas!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooorry for the wait, college has taken up most of my time and I'm rereading Harry Potter. Thanks for the inspiring comments, I definitely, _definitely_ wouldn't have written or posted this today if it wasn't for the comments. 
> 
> Also, this starts with a "flashback":

~*~*~

"Oh, god," Tom moans, taking good, collected breaths as his mom helps Emma to help him, fingers deftly tying the white tie of his suit. He can feel his fingers shaking, his chest rattling with shaky breaths no matter how much he tries to calm himself down. 

 

"Be quiet, Thomas," his mother admonishes, adjusting the lapels of his jacket and the small blond curls that pop off his head in a tuft. 

 

"I can't," he whines, suddenly so nervous. 

 

"Don't be a pussy now, Tom," Emma says, stepping back to give him a final eyeful. "It's your wedding day, not your death sentence." 

 

Tom sighs, going to stand before the full-length mirror. "How do I look?" he asks, licking his lips. 

 

"You look divine, darling," his mother answers, and she's right. Tom had been right to go with the white suit, his long and lean body looked perfect in it. He had _told_ Emma it wouldn't make him look fat. His hair and eyes stand out on it, giving him an angelic appearance. "Go, Emma, take a picture," his mother says, stepping back so Emma can grab her cell phone to snap the photo of him. 

 

"Say cheese," she says, and Tom has enough time to make a less awkward pose before she is done. Emma looks pretty in her blue gown, some locks of her hair held back by a clamp shaped like a blue rose. "Let's go, we're late." 

 

Their aunt Rose stands up along with the rest of Tom's little entourage to follow them out. "He's the bride, he has to be late, it's the charm." 

 

"He's not the bride!" His mother interjects, as they go down the stairs in a crowd, the smell of strong colognes and the sound of high-heels clicking all together. 

 

"It's a homosexual wedding," Tom's aunt continues, but her sentence is lost as they reach the bottom floor, someone going ahead to open the door for Tom. 

 

"But isn't Tom the one who-?" Lisa, Tom's long-time friend from college, speaks, looking elegant in a short pink dress. "Never mind." 

 

The limousine awaits them, the driver having gone out to smoke, startling in his barely-there uniform before going to open the door for them. "Careful, girls, Tom goes in first," Emma shouts over the confusion, and they step to the side to make way for Tom, who climbs in and takes the seat next to the window. Emma comes to take his side, followed by Sarah, his mom, aunt Rose, the rest of Tom's cousins, Lisa and his other friends from college. 

 

The drive begins and Tom feels his forehead sticky with sweat. "Calm down, deep breaths, like Chris tells you," Emma says beside him, taking in long breaths to set the example. Tom whines in the back of his throat, trying to do as told as all the women shift inside around him, the talk restarting. 

 

"Is the groom's brother going?" 

 

"Who?" 

 

"The one Tom showed us the picture." 

 

"Has the camera man arrived yet? He needs to be there when Tom enters." 

 

"And the priest, wasn't he sick? Will he make it today?" 

 

Jodie, the small bridesmaid, started crying on aunt Rose' lap, her head tiara falling somewhere on the seat. There was a hustle while everyone tried looking for it at the same time, and Tom gasped, suddenly feeling like his waistcoat was going to suffocate him. "Tom is nervous!" Emma shouted, which only made it worse as someone tried pulling down the window, borrowing them a fan that Emma used on him, long gulfs of air over his face. 

 

"Mom," Tom whined in agony, "What if Chris isn't there?" 

 

"How wouldn't he be there, my darling? It's his wedding." 

 

"George called," Sarah said, meaning her boyfriend. "He's already arrived there, and he said Chris is waiting." 

 

Tom gasped, "Is he waiting for too long?" 

 

"He's waiting at the alter? Oh, that's so cute!" Someone said, and they all cooed. 

 

But they feel when the car takes a turn, entering a gravel path. "We're here!" Aunt Rose says, pressing her face closer to the window. There's a series of gasps, and Tom feels the corners of his eyes moistening. Sarah hands Emma her handkerchief, and his sister uses it to dab his face. "Now, Tom, try to relax. It looks like you're giving birth, not going to get married." 

 

He sniffles, looks up at the car's ceiling as it slows in speed, and he can see the park's lake from his window. At the other side, his friends from college snicker and try peeking out the window. "Is that the brother?" one of them whispers, and the car halts to a stop in front of the park's chapel, where surely enough, Liam and a couple men stand at the entrance, taking one look at the limousine before going inside, probably to take their positions and warn Chris. 

 

Emma uses the time it takes for everyone to filter out of the limousine to tap some powder on his face, and Tom is helped out the car by at least five pairs of hands. The women talk and shush each other as he finally steps out. 

 

Tom takes a moment to take everything in. The sky is pale orange with twilight, the grass so green in the park, slightly wet where no doubt the sprinklers had come in preparation for the event. The double doors to the chapel are open, but the interior is so wide that Tom can't quite make out the faces of his guests, even less so if Chris is there. There are colourful flowers arranged everywhere, on the small path leading to the chapel's entrance, hanging around the doors, at the edge of every row of seats under the golden lights of the chandeliers inside. It's much more than he had imagined, his dream come true, only better. 

 

Emma squeezes his arm playfully, smiling up at him, her eyes a little wet. "Okay?" she asks, and Tom nods. 

 

There are small children running and playing in front of the chapel, all in gossamer dresses and small suits, soft loafers and white stockings. They pause when they see Tom, and run inside where their parents are probably waiting. Tom recognizes Luke's children among them. 

 

Some guests loitering around also go inside, snooping quick looks at Tom and waving. 

 

"You are so beautiful, darling," his mother turns to him to say, both hands cupping his face. Tom feels like crying, but holds it back and kisses her cheek. Sarah smiles, "He is, isn't he?" she says, and comes to hug him. "Chris will faint when he sees you," she jokes and Tom laughs joyfully. 

 

Aunt Rose and the rest of the girls go inside, the talking guests taking their seats when spotting them, knowing Tom had arrived. Aunt Rose went to find Tom's father, and in a wave of whispers, Chris' mother, sat at the front row, rises to prod Chris' shoulder. Chris turns, and she whispers "Tom's here." 

 

Chris takes in a breath, heart racing, nodding and turning his back to the entrance once more. He feels when Liam takes his side, "Nervous?" his brother asks and Chris sighs, biting his bottom lip. Tom is here, just outside the door, he's here, and the ceremony will begin. "Easy," Liam chuckles, and puts a hand to his back. "Tom looks beautiful," he adds in a conspiratorial whisper, and Chris smiles, but also feels like punching his brother for having seen Tom first. 

 

Chris tries to peek over his shoulder once, but all he sees is Tom's father retreating, and a small group of people at the far distance if he squints, Tom no doubt among them. 

 

"No peeking," Liam admonishes jokingly, and Chris gulps, staring ahead at the same panel at the alter, shoulders squared and hands folded at his back. 

 

All guests take their seats, and the ceremony manager, a smart girl in a black tube dress motions for the musicians to ready themselves. Chris feels like he's about to burst, looking up at the tall ceiling, leg jiggling, ears attuned to every noise that might signal Tom's approach. 

 

Outside, Emma, the maid of honor, takes her place next to David, the bestman and Chris' friend from the hospital. The camera man shows up and there is a fumble as everyone gets in position, lining to enter the chapel while Tom's father goes to meet him at the end of the line. He hugs him, tightly, and Tom smiles, inhaling deeply to fight off his tears. Tom takes his father's arm, his mother going in the front with his uncle, and there's a moment of quietness, only some guests murmuring before the music begins. 

 

Tom watches in mounting nervousness as Emma and David step in regally, sighing once, twice, feeling his throat fluttering. He presses his lips together, the rest of the line going ahead until he and his father are at the chapel's entrance, all the couples in line now standing beside Chris at the alter, and the music slips into a soft change, Tom's eyes watering immediately before he gathers himself. And then he walks in. 

 

All the guests stand, heads turning to see him. Tom gulps, and then he sees him: Chris. Standing at the alter, waiting for him, a smile so soft but so tender and meaningful that Tom's insides liquefy. Chris' eyes seem to bore into Tom, and Tom smiles shyly, looking down at his shoes as his father steps along to lead him. 

 

Chris is wearing a dark blue suit, looking so handsome, eyes so blue that his gaze could pierce Tom, the way he shifts on his feet, throat bobbing as his nostrils flare, seeming to hold in a wider smile that finally splits his face. 

 

They get closer and closer to the alter, the priest waiting with a solemn face. The photographer walks backwards, snapping pictures of Tom, his face red and eyes wide, the result of which he'd see many and many times still in the future, in their wedding album kept securely on the top shelf of their wardrobe. 

 

They reach the bottom of the steps, and Tom's father reaches forward to shake Chris' hand. Tom doesn't contain his smile when his father turns to him, squeezes his palm softly before bringing Chris' hand up to his. Tom looks up, possibly overflowing with a mad feeling that feels too much like happiness, only stronger. Chris doesn't take his eyes away from him, and Tom wants to reach out, to bask in his glow, to die in his arms. 

 

Tom steps up, and they face each other. 

 

"You're beautiful," Chris mouthed at him, "Beautiful." Chris leans in to kiss his forehead, and Tom feels like pulling him closer. "I love you," Tom mouthed back, but the ceremony manager looks anxious, and they both finally turn to face the priest. There's a sudden calm over the chapel, only the photographer with his soft clicks echoing at the margin of the steps. The priest clears his throat softly, and begins his speech by greeting the guests and explaining why they were united here tonight. 

 

Tom didn't absorb anything, and he had a feeling Chris didn't either. There was a point where people stood from their seats, repeated something in an echo, and then fell back into place. And all the while Tom only saw it from the corner of his eyes. He felt like he was about to cry, he was so happy. 

 

They held hands, fingers intertwined, and Tom squeezes Chris' palm a little before the priest's voice rose in volume. He was at the part when he challenged the guests to speak up if they had anything against Tom's and Chris' union. There wasn't a peep. As he followed along, Chris squeezed Tom's hand back. 

 

"Now," the priest continues, holding his hands up slowly, "will you please turn and face one another," they do, smiling hugely, "and join hands to express your vows of love and devotion to each other." 

 

Tom's heart beats frantically, he feels he's about to faint. He had spent the last week or so memorizing his vows, murmuring it under his breath while in the shower, while cooking and while running in the park. It couldn't fail him now, but he just felt like his voice would falter. But Chris begins, licking his lips nervously before gazing into Tom's eyes. 

 

"I, Christopher, take you, Thomas, to be my husband, to have and to hold, to cherish and to love, whether in sickness or in health, rich or poor." He pauses, "I take you to be my loving companion from today on, for all the days that are to follow until my last and final day, until the last breath I shall hold. I promise to provide for you, to help you in times of hardships, to hear you laugh and to dry your tears, to stand beside you and to, above all, love you." 

 

Tom bits his bottom lip firmly, clearing his throat so he can be heard over the silence until the back of the chapel. "I, Thomas, take you, Christopher, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward. I vow to support you, to bless the days in your presence and mourn your absence, to hold you and to comfort you, to let you know you'll never feel lonely, never feel safer or more peaceful than when in my arms. I will," he faltered, but easily recuperated himself, "I will give you my soul and myself, my time and my patience. I shall be with you as a husband, as a lover, as a friend and as a brother, and as your twin soul." 

 

Chris smiled, shyly at first, and Tom could see the effort he made not to lean forward to kiss him. The priest continued in his dull voice, and Tom could see Liam smirking over Chris' shoulder. The priest asked for the rings, and Chris diligently fished them out of his pocket. Someone at the back of the chapel coughed. 

 

"Will you please take this ring and place it upon the third finger of Thomas' left hand, and holding his hand in yours, please repeat this promise after me:" the priest said to Chris, and Tom sniffled quietly when Chris reached for his hand. Chris' fingers were warm when they slipped over Tom's, sliding the golden ring into place on his third finger like instructed, repeating after the priest that "With this ring, I seal my promise to be your faithful and loving husband." 

 

On the priest's prompting, Tom repeated the same words and slipped the twin ring on Chris' third finger. Holding in his breath, he looked up at Chris, squeezing their hands together as the priest concluded in a higher voice. They were almost there. Almost there, and Tom couldn't believe it. 

 

The priest pronounced the words Tom had longed to hear for so long. They could listen as the guests stood, and then "You may kiss your husband." 

 

Chris promptly leaned to press their lips together, hands flying to clamp around Tom's waist. Smiling into it, Tom slipped his hands to Chris' neck, the chapel erupting in claps and cheers, Emma weeping softly. 

 

They walked down the pathway hand in hand, laughing and greeting the guests as they passed. Tom hugged his mom and dad, his sisters and Chris' parents, Liam and Luke and Luke's wife. When they finally got to the entrance, they were showered with rice flecks, the children being more than delighted to try and hit them with it. They managed to duck into the awaiting golf cart that would transport them the short way up to the park's lakehouse, the guests quick after them. 

 

"Can you believe it?" Tom said in Chris' ear amidst all the cheer. 

 

"I don't think I can, no," Chris leaned to kiss him. 

 

~*~ 

 

Now with his play finished for good, Tom almost goes back to the old routine. Almost. This big entertainment channel had gotten in contact and probed him after a participation in a tv show, so Tom was excited. But not as much as when Chris would text him shyly during the day. 

 

It was odd, going back the way around. In a matter of seconds Tom could go from feeling like the bravest man on earth, flirting with Chris and alluding to their time together, only to feel like a withering petal the moment Chris took two seconds longer to reply. They had decided to do it slowly, to test the waters before launching headfirst into anything. 

 

Sighing, Tom went to put some water to boil for tea. Chris would be picking Henry up at school any minute now, and Tom wouldn't want to bother him with messages while he could be driving. 

 

He was just finishing washing the dishes and preparing himself to change into more comfortable clothes when the doorbell rang. Stilling, Tom looked over his shoulder at the empty house. He dried his hands and began to make his way toward the door, his heart speeding. The doorbell rang again, and Tom closed his hand over the doorknob when he heard an unmistakable voice from the other side. "Isn't he at work, dad?" It was Henry. And Chris. 

 

"He said he was home." 

 

Tom ran his fingers over his hair, gaping like a fish out of water as he retreated into the bathroom in a hurry, almost slipping on the end of the carpet. He tried taming his curls but they wouldn't stay, and he chastised himself for not having gone earlier for a haircut. There was a tea stain on his shirt, and Tom winced, wondering if he could hide it with his hand without it looking like he was trying to ward off a heart attack. The bell rang again, and Tom ran to open the door before he could lose his courage. 

 

"Hi," he said, trying to sound natural though it knew it was impossible. 

 

"Hi," Chris replied with a fond smile, and Henry launched himself to Tom's knees. "Papa!" His son shouted, and Tom bent to scoop him up. 

 

"Darling," Tom gasped, "how are you doing? I miss you so much." He hugged Henry to him, a feeling like that of a pair of warm hands enveloping his heart. Being away from his kid was unhealthy, and Tom realized what a cruelty this had all been for them, being apart and making Henry have only half of what they had promised to give him entirely, their attention and presence. 

 

"He wanted to see you," Chris said swiftly, pocketing his hands in his jacket. He was wearing that dark blue beanie of his. The wind was cold outside, and any day now the snow would come. Tom could feel Henry's little hands covered in his red mitts as he petted Tom's cheek and made to kiss it. 

 

Tom chuckled, crouching down to nuzzle the crown of Henry's head. He looked quietly up at Chris, "Thanks for bringing him," he murmured. Chris was a tall and strong figure in his doorstep, smiling shyly and shrugging down at Tom, who groaned when picking Henry up in his arms. "Would you like some tea," - Tom was reminded of the tea stain on his own shirt and adjusted Henry on his hip so it wouldn't be visible -, "or, or some toast? I don't know. It's cold." He needn't have said that, as it was quite obvious, but Tom wasn't in his right mind when next to Chris, a fuzzy feeling worming inside him, making him itchy with nervousness. 

 

Instead of answering, Chris flicked his eyes to Henry, drawing his lips in with a hum. Henry smiled, and hid his small teeth with a hand. "I think..." Chris said, "I think Henry would like to invite you to come over. Wouldn't you, Henry?" 

 

Tom's lips were parted in a small 'o', and he couldn't help tilting his head to better look at Henry, who nodded at his father and dipped his hand into the curls behind Tom's left ear. "Oh," Tom mumbled, flabbergasted. Chris was looking hopefully at him, and Tom could feel his cheeks heating. Their small conversations over the last few days suddenly filled his thoughts. He felt so shy, so unsure on how he should proceed. Would it be okay for him to go? It would be nothing more than spending some time with his son in their old home, but it would mean so much more, to be there again and remember everything. Not to just go to pick Henry up with a mind set to saying the smallest number of words he could to Chris. He would go as a potential... ex-ex-husband. 

 

"Hum, I- I don't know," he managed to blurt, looking over his shoulder at his quiet house. There was nothing for him to do today, he had just been entertaining the thought of lying down with a nice book and perhaps a movie, but it would be quite... lonely. Chris seemed about to say he understood and that it was fine, but Henry clutched Tom's collar in his small fists. He had a habit of doing that when he was fierce about something he wanted and that Tom was denying him (like new flashing toys in display at the mall). 

 

"Please, papa, please, dad said we could make cookies and eat-" 

 

"After dinner," Chris put in quickly. He glanced down at his shoes, shifting his legs. "I said we could make cookies after dinner if Henry was still hungry." 

 

Henry turned to Tom with a winning smile. "See? It'll be fuuu-un." 

 

The cold air was starting to get to Tom, who looked up and down the street as though it could help him decide. Oh, damn it. "Fine," he sighed, and put a cheering Henry back on his feet. "But I'll have to go put some- erm, better clothes on," he said, and felt Chris's gaze falling slowly over his body. This made his cheeks warm anew, and Chris clearly turned his eyes away as Tom excused himself and went back to his room, where he fumbled for a clean shirt and a pair of jeans, muttering under his breath and chastising himself over how stupid he had looked and sounded. He rescued his black woollen coat from the bottom of his wardrobe and wrapped it around himself, having half a mind to bury his wallet and phone in his back pockets. 

 

Chris and Henry were at the entrance, the front door slightly ajar as they waited for Tom. Henry was looking up at Chris inquisitively as they talked, but turned when spotting Tom and beamed up at him. He went to tackle Tom's legs and ask him how his favorite cookie flavor was. Tom laughed and crossed the threshold when Chris tapped his shoulder lightly, offering Tom's own maroon scarf that was hanging beside the door up at him. 

 

"Ah, thank you," Tom sputtered to say, chuckling down at himself as Chris flung it around his neck. Clearing his throat shortly, Tom mumbled a low "right, the door," and moved to lock it. 

 

They traipsed to Chris's car in a slow, easy going pace, as Henry kept spilling lots of information up at Tom. His breath was leaving him in white puffs and Tom wrapped his arms around himself. The car's interior was warmer, though, and Chris made a point of turning the heater to Tom while winking at him. Tom murmured a low "thanks", and brought the cold tip of a finger up to his lips as Henry adjusted himself at the backseat. 

 

Chris asked him trivial things, like his career. "Actually, there's a role for a tv show they have been pestering me about, nothing much," he answered, but Chris seemed delighted to hear it. "You can be the next Doctor," he joked excitedly, and Tom laughed, darting his gaze away. _Gods_ , he thought, and waited until the severe drumming of his heart and the riveted pull of his insides had subsided so he could face the windshield again. 

 

Henry couldn't understand why being a doctor was funny though, and while Chris tried to explain it to him between chuckles, Tom smiled out at the window. They were passing the familiar streets on the way home, the tall brick building and the blue cozy house Tom had once convinced Henry was the one from the witch of Hänsel and Gretel. There was a crossroad twenty feet ahead, a coffee shop where Tom used to read his scripts in while entertaining a baby Henry in his stroller by dangling his Pikachu toy out of his reach; a small delicatessen whose owner knew them by name given the times they had had to escort Henry there, and then... then they turned right, entering the street lined with tall trees that gave out small rosy fruits every May whatsoever, and just on the corner it was. The house. It remained there, just where Tom had left it. 

 

Chris opened the front gate and drummed his fingers over the steering wheel. There was silence in the car, and then Henry sucked in more breath to talk. 

 

Tom busied himself with the lock of his seatbelt as Chris urged the car on and inside the house. They came to a stop though, and Tom anxiously stepped out of the car, feeling Chris' warm gaze on him as he took the briefest of looks around. He knew this backyard, and Henry's small playground at the far end of it. Knew the trees and the bushes, and how long it took for that rosebud to bloom. 

 

Tom went to unload Henry from the backseat, helping him down the car when a voice sounded from behind him. "Mr Tom!" 

 

He turned abruptly, spotting the chubby form of Ammy on the front door, her smile bringing out her dimples, a hand up in the air to wave. Ammy had been their housekeeper since they had settled in the house a little after the wedding. She had helped them out with Henry whenever she came over on Mondays and Fridays. Today was Monday, so Tom gathers Chris maintained the schedule. Ammy had been very sad when knowing about their divorce, Tom remembers. 

 

"Ammy, hello!" He went there to hug her with Henry next to his legs. "How are you doing? It's been such a long time." 

 

"Yes, yes," she nodded heartily. The divorce came up to both their minds when reviving the last time they had seen each other, and Ammy quickly changed subjects. "It's so good to see you, Mr Tom. How is your family?" 

 

"Very well, thank you, Ammy, and yourself? Has Henry been behaving?" Tom looked down at Henry, brushing his chest for warmth as it seemed he was cold. Chris showed up behind him, Tom could feel, and there was a moment when Ammy shifted her eyes uncertainly between them, her smile not waning. 

 

"Good, good, very good, Henry is a little angel," she was happy to say, and Chris stepped around them, carrying his suitcase from the car, bending to kiss her in the cheek with a low "Ammy," and bounding up to cross the door. Tom watched his back for a moment too long because Ammy's eyes glinted in that sort of way that always made him wonder how much she knew of things. 

 

Tom was looking for other things to say when Chris's voice echoed from inside: "What is this smell?" 

 

Ammy beamed proudly, and turned to enter the house, Henry following her and leaving Tom to do the same. The house looked exactly the same, even Tom's own pictures with Henry lining the hall. Tom could promptly understand what Chris had meant because there was a wonderful smell coming from the kitchen, where Chris was bent to watch the contents of the oven as Henry went to drop his backpack in the living room. 

 

"I made pork chops," Ammy was proudly stating, leaning against the counter. 

 

"Goodness, woman," Chris sighed, "you're a heaven sent." 

 

Ammy smiled and beckoned Tom over. He hummed, "it smells delicious." 

 

"Looks it too." Chris was saying, standing up to look back at Tom. "We won't have to cook tonight." 

 

Ammy darted her eyes between them again, but made no comment as Henry came running from the living room in his socks. "But dad, you said we could make the cookies tonight," he claimed. 

 

"We can, but we won't have to make dinner as well," Chris replied, pulling a drawer out to collect a fork and dip it into the sauce Ammy had been stirring. 

 

Henry was going about the terms of agreement for sweets making, and Tom had a look at what life in this house was without him. Ammy caught his eye and smiled. "I'm on my way then, Mr Chris," she said, going to grab her purse from the kitchen counter. "I was just making sure you arrived in time to eat so it wouldn't burn." 

 

"Thank you so much, Ammy," Chris came to her to say, and insisted to drop her off at the bus stop. "Tom, could you watch Henry and the pork while I'm gone?" 

 

"Sure," Tom nodded, and waved Ammy goodbye. Chris went to close the door after himself, and upon catching Tom's eye, blew him a kiss. 

 

Tom quickly looked away, holding back a smile. 

 

The pork chops looked about ready, so Tom turned off the fire. Henry was impatient to do something, and once Tom had taken the chops out of the oven with the oven mitts, the child clung to his leg and asked him if he could push him on the swings in the backyard. 

 

"Are you sure? It's getting colder and colder outside," Tom didn't want Henry under the dew of a cold day. But Henry nodded, and Tom fastened his own scarf around Henry's neck and took him outside. 

 

They had decided to build the playground when Henry's papers were signed and done for. They have a colorful set of swings and a slide, and Tom has many memories in it. Henry takes the green swing, and Tom moves to stand behind him, taking a hold of the chains to pull him back and then release him. Henry goes with stretched legs, moving forward in an arc and falling back, where Tom is at and pushes him smoothly forward again. 

 

"Is dad going to take long?" Henry asks. 

 

"I don't think so." 

 

Henry hums in response. "It'll be nice, papa. I'm not very good at making the cookies but dad helps me a lot, and you can help us too." 

 

Tom chuckled, "I think I can, yes," _If I can take my eyes off your father_ , he thinks, and promptly blushes at his own daring. 

 

A little more than five minutes goes past, and Tom tugs Henry out of the swings so they can go back inside. Tom has only just turned the television on when he hears Chris's car coming in. Later, Chris pokes his head into the living room, looking more than pleased to see Tom and Henry lying lazily on the sofa. 

 

"Let's go?" He asks, pointing at the dining room. 

 

"Ah, sure," Tom stands to go help him set the table. He takes the plates and the cutlery while Chris dribbles the sauce over the pork chops, and sets up some rice and vegetables from the fridge. Tom knows his way around the house by heart, and it's not until he's helping Chris carry the food to the table and sees everything ready that he realizes that they're about to eat together in the dining room, _all of them, peacefully,_ for the first time since the divorce. 

 

"Ahm," Tom makes, stupidly, running his hands over his back pocket like he wants to pull out his car keys, which aren't there. Chris looks questioningly up at him, and Tom points to the guest bathroom over his shoulder. "I think I'll go wash my hands," he says, and Chris nods promptly, shouting for Henry to do the same in the living room. 

 

Tom apprehensively makes his way to it, pointedly looking down at his own hands as he goes through the process of soaping and rinsing. He dries his hands in the pink fluffy towel that were a wedding gift from Chris' aunt, and then looks back at his own reflection, for once seeing himself inside his house again, happy and comfortable with Chris and Henry at his side. "Fuck," he doesn't know _how_ he's ever going back to his empty little house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos and comments and the likes if you have any ideas on what you'd like to see from now on - I don't know why, but it's nice knowing. Have fun! Kisses!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found a bit more time to write this as I really want to complete it but am also dreading to come to an end. I'll expand the chapter limit, though even that number might be extended later. It won't be longer than twenty chapters, I can assure you that. (And if I make it more than twenty, I'll come back here and erase this so it doesn't look like I assured anything).
> 
> I really liked writing this chapter, perhaps it might be my favorite so far, thanks, obviously, to your comments and kudos and incentive!
> 
> Also: *whispers* 8.5k words! And we continue from where we left off in the last chapter.

When Tom arrives at the threshold to the dining room, he sees Chris already sat with Henry, who is slowly trying to edge a finger into the sauce but is promptly stopped by Chris's telling him off. 

 

Henry scowls, but spots Tom over Chris's shoulder and beams, patting the seat beside his. "Papa, sit next to me!" He pleads, and though Chris looks like he wants to plead _Tom_ to sit next to him, he doesn't say a thing. 

 

Tom smiles down at Henry, and takes the seat beside him. It's a small relief, not to sit on Chris's left like he used to when they were married, made him shake his head and see they were _not_ going back to the old habits as though nothing had gone wrong. In a way, Tom finds he doesn't want to fill the same spaces as he had before when he and Chris aren't at the most of their relationship again, it felt somehow like tarnishing his past self. If that made any sense at all. 

 

The food was very good, even Henry seemed to be licking his lips. There was an amicable silence as they ate, and while cutting Henry's meat for him Tom caught Chris's eye and smiled. 

 

Chris cleared his throat. "Molly is setting up a birthday party for little Lucy," he said, pausing to take a sip of his water and watching Tom cautiously above the rim. 

 

Molly was Luke's wife, and Tom summoned up the last image of their children he could remember, one boy and two girls, but couldn't tell apart which one of them was the one named Lucy. He nodded, "Nice, how old is she turning?" 

 

"Four, I think," Chris raised his eyebrows quickly, as though he too couldn't remember exactly. 

 

"Five, dad," Henry corrected, in a very crisp voice, looking disappointed with his father. "Lucy is the oldest, it's Emily who's turning four." 

 

"Erm, right, sorry," Chris apologized bemusedly, the faintest tinge of pink on his cheeks as he exchanged a look with Tom and both tried to stifle their laugh. 

 

It wasn't until they were finished and taking the dirty dishes to the sink that Chris cleared his throat again. "So, er, Molly invited me and Henry, for the birthday party, I mean," Chris said, forearms deep in soap as he washed the dishes. Tom was leaning against the counter, watching the kitchen clock nervously; he had an idea where this was leading to. 

 

"Oh? Nice," he answered half-heartedly. 

 

"I asked her if I could take someone else with me," Chris said to the wall. "She said yes, so," he shrugged, "if you'd like to come just let me know." 

 

Chris didn't look over his shoulder to perceive Tom's reaction, and Tom was glad, because he really doesn't know what face to make to that. "All right," murmured Tom. 

 

Chris's family was another matter entirely. They were the boss at the end of the dungeon if Tom and Chris's getting back were a video game. Molly was nice, but she was also Luke's wife, and Tom still hadn't forgotten what Luke'd said to Chris that night Henry eavesdropped. He wasn't looking forward to meeting them, as pleasant as they were. Tom was ashamed, really, of his own behavior, but also bristled at the unfairness that was having their anger directed at him when the reason for Tom to file for the divorce was none of their business since it involved his own romantic and social life with his husband. But Tom knew this was the way of things: families got involved. It was nice knowing you were surrounded by people who'd help you in a heart beat, but when there was a clash, things got confused. 

 

Chris would have to be very insensitive not to notice the animosity, or rather, the intentional lack of effort to keep in touch going on between Tom and his family. So why bother taking Tom to his niece's birthday party if they were only just beginning with _this_? Could Chris risk their chance of reuniting over it? Knowing Chris, he just wanted Tom and his family to go back to liking one another as fast as possible. But it wasn't that simple. It would never be. Even if they got back together successfully, Tom was sure Chris's family wouldn't support it, and on the fat chance they would, if there was ever a row between them, they'd probably think Tom was one step away from asking for the separation yet again and that Chris shouldn't have gone back to him to begin with. 

 

Tom didn't like thinking about those things, they made his head hurt. Chris's family was the dungeon boss, and Chris and Tom were on the first floor. Let's deal with the minor, easily killable foes first. 

 

"I'll go see what Henry is up to," he said in a loud voice, already retreating to the living room where the sound of Henry's cartoons were loudest. 

 

"Ah, okay," he heard Chris saying disappointedly. 

 

Sighing, Tom poked his head on the doorway to see a very focused Henry staring unblinkingly at the television. "Hey," he murmured, and edged forward to lay a gentle hand on Henry's head. 

 

"Papa," he bolted, "is dad finished? Can we use the kitchen? I'm thinking, we can use chocolate chips, right?" 

 

Tom hummed. "That sounds all right, why don't you go and ask your father?" 

 

With new determination, Henry leapt to his feet and ran straight to the kitchen, where Tom could hear him boldly asking his father if he was done yet. "Ohoho, what is that now? Am I your slave or something?" Chris was joking, and Tom smiled by himself in the living room. "No, but you have to wash the dishes," Henry replied stubbornly; Tom could picture him pouting up at Chris, hands on his hips. "Right," Chris laughed, "why don't you come help me drying these if you're in a hurry?" Henry mumbled something else Tom wasn't able to hear, but it seemed he was helping Chris. 

 

Tom spent some time watching the cartoon, but was interrupted when Henry showed up to grab him by the hand and lead him to the kitchen. "And you can help me with the dough..." He was saying, and Tom smiled sheepishly when feeling Chris's gaze on him. 

 

Chris was bringing out the utensils they'd need, and shuffled aside to make room for Tom next to him even though it wasn't necessary. He watched Henry and Chris collecting the ingredients, not really knowing what to do with his hands as he took quick glances at the kitchen clock. Chris must've caught him doing it, because as soon as he could, he sidled up to Tom. "It'll be quick," he whispered in Tom's ear, and despite the flush that crept over his cheeks, Tom nodded. 

 

Henry was mixing the ingredients with a very determined face, and Tom went to help him. 

 

"You have to do it like this," Henry was teaching him how to stir the dough with the spoon, and Tom was making a very interested face. "Try it," he said, and Tom couldn't help smiling up at Chris as he began mixing the dough under Henry's attentive supervision. Henry corrected him at least twice, and Chris came to Tom's rescue. 

 

"Henry, help me with the chocolate here," he said, and sighing long-sufferingly Henry went to help Chris, "Just keep doing like I told you, papa." 

 

Henry and Chris were taking out the chocolate chips. Henry took a few in his fingers, and there was only a warning hiss from Chris in the form of "Henryy..." But his son had already stuffed the chips in his mouth. 

 

"Henry, you can't eat all the chips before..." Chris began, and Henry attempted to lunge over the counter to take more of them, but Chris shooed him away. Face scrunching up, Tom thought Henry was about to cry, and uncertainly looked between them, mumbling in a thread of voice, "I think...", but Henry used the distraction to finally snatch another chip from the counter, and before any of them knew where to look at, he ran to hide behind Tom with a look of utter mirth on his face. 

 

Chris gasped, "you're using your father as human shield now, are you?" 

 

Tom stifled a laugh. He could feel Henry fisting the back of his shirt, peeking at Chris. Slowly, Henry inched his hand next to Tom's, and slipped the chips into his hand. 

 

Chris went around the counter to snatch Henry, and the boy gave a loud shriek, jumping away from Tom and running, Chris chasing him in circles around the counter. Henry laughed, and Tom for a minute forgot how unnerved he got whenever Henry run, so entranced and delighted was he to see them playing. 

 

Chris managed to grasp Henry around the waist, and the boy screeched, eyes almost shut with his unstoppable laughter. Chris tickled his tummy and Henry giggled, twitching. Chris made him open his hands to show the theft, and to his immense surprise, Henry's hands were empty. "Where is it?" He asked, flabbergasted, scanning Henry's hands. Henry threw his head back and gave his father a wide, tricky smile. 

 

Timidly, Tom opened his hand where Henry had slipped the chocolate chips into, and ate one. Chris saw it, and gasped in shock. "It's a gang," he said, and Henry squirmed out of Chris's grasp. 

 

"Tickle him too, dad!" Henry was goading. Tom looked nervously at him, turned back to Chris, but was unable to hide the smirk on his face. Chris was looking at him, clearly not knowing if he should cross that line yet. There was a second of absolute stillness from both parts, and then Henry gasped. 

 

Both turned to look at him and found Henry with his face pressed to the kitchen window, a tiny finger on the glass as he marvelled at the sight outside. The kitchen window overlooked Henry's playground in the backyard, and Tom remembered how he used to peer at it every once in a while whenever he was at the kitchen and Henry, playing in the backyard. Now, the backyard is barely visible, the night too dark to allow discerning of any feature, but it's not the backyard that Henry was gasping at, it was at the sky. Because tiny, silvery-white snowflakes were falling lazily. 

 

"It's snowing," Henry said, excitedly. Tom and Chris stood behind him to share the view. 

 

"It really is," Tom murmured. How was he going to return to his house? 

 

"Do you know what that means?" Chris asked them, and both Henry and Tom turned to him. "I think we can use the chocolate for something else." 

 

~*~ 

 

They sat on the porch, grinning softly behind their mugs of hot chocolate. The large plate of cookies was stationed on a table in front of them, where Henry would occasionally lean over to get another one for himself. 

 

The snowflakes littered the grass with soft tinkling lights, and Tom burrowed closer to his own scarf, taking a sip of his hot chocolate and feeling the warmth settling inside him. He shifted his gaze to Chris, sitting opposite him with Henry gingerly positioned on his knee. Henry was comparing the number of chocolate chips in his cookie and that of his father. 

 

"Mine has six, no... seven," the boy was saying, a finger counting the visible chips in his cookies, his voice eerily comforting, soft in the night. Tom let his eyelids fall, just so he could focus on Henry's voice and his giggles and the quiet murmurs of the night. "Yours has eight, do you wanna trade? Thanks." 

 

Tom smiled, and let his head fall to the edge of his cushioned chair. 

 

"Did your father fall asleep?" He heard Chris questioning Henry surreptitiously, and instantly opened his eyes. They were both looking at him, amused. 

 

"I wasn't," he said, quickly, and Chris smirked knowingly. Henry turned on his father's arms and giggled, taking another bite of his cookie. 

 

Tom finished his hot chocolate, watching Chris and Henry as they talked lowly on their own. He settled his mug on the table next to the plate of cookies, and stood up. 

 

He hadn't been expecting for it to snow, but he needed to go home. Chris looked up, not saying a thing as he watched Tom pocketing his hands. "I think I should go," Tom said, and it looked like Chris was just waiting for him to say that. "You can stay, you know?" he replied. 

 

"Ahn..." Tom chuckled, looking away, "No, but..." 

 

"You can stay, papa," Henry was now saying, hopefully turning to Tom. "You can sleep in my bedroom, dad said so." 

 

Chris blushed, and tried to look as though he hadn't been talking about Tom staying to Henry. "Hn, I said your father could..." he looked up at Tom, his breath leaving in white puffs, "if he wanted to." 

 

Tom chewed his lower lip. He wasn't really looking forward to going home in this snow, to go back to his silent house and fall face-first on his bed. But he didn't have the audacity to stay here either, to sleep in this house like a guest when he had once been its owner, to ignore how he and Chris were only just beginning to mend their relationship. 

 

"It's late, papa," Henry said, looking up at him with huge hazel eyes. He was awaiting Tom's answer with that soft look of children, innocent. 

 

Tom was caving in, he was feeling it. And it seemed Chris and Henry were feeling it too. "Pleeease," Henry pleaded. Tom looked down at his feet. 

 

"I can drop you home tomorrow on my way to work," Chris offered, always the gentleman. 

 

"I don't have any clothes here," Tom finally formulated an excuse. 

 

Chris grinned, and quickly replied. "I can lend you some." 

 

Henry was turning his head to look from one to the other inquiringly. "I can lend you some too." 

 

Tom laughed, and so did Chris. "I don't think your clothes will fit your father much, Henry," Chris said, and kissed the top of his head. 

 

There was a moment of silence, and Tom retired to the handrail, watching the backyard up and down. Chris didn't press him for his answer, just continued murmuring to Henry. A little later, Tom heard him standing from his seat. Tom turned. "I'm taking everything back inside, 'kay?" He asked, yawning and scratching the back of his head distractedly. Tom nodded and let his gaze drop to the floor, away from the sliver of skin that showed when Chris's shirt lifted slightly with his stretching. 

 

"...got the cookies?" Tom heard Chris asking softly as Henry slid the porch door open. "Yep," Henry murmured, and said something else as the sound of their footsteps died down, swallowed by the door that slid closed. 

 

Tom doesn't know how much time he spends there, just watching the snow covering the grass in a light dust, his own breath leaving in a fog, the soft sounds of the house and the windows that blinked with golden lights as Henry and Chris moved inside. 

 

Wasn't this what he wanted in the long run? To go back to Chris and constitute their family? But was this _how_ he wanted it? It would have to start at some point, he had no doubt regarding that. He couldn't text Chris for a week and keep doing so until one of them gave up. He needed to climb the mountain, and they were only in the first step, he couldn't go fearing the moment he'd have to take the next. What was he afraid of? That he'd look _easy_? 

 

Tom puffs. It's exactly that, he doesn't want to rush into things. But is spending the night in the house, in his son's room, really crossing some kind of invisible line? It doesn't look so. In the end it always comes to choosing between two paths: what he wants and what he thinks is right. Tom usually goes with what he thinks is right. In this situation, however, the lines are blurred. 

 

There's a soft throat clearing and Chris comes back to the porch, putting on his beanie and smiling quizzically at Tom. "All right there?" he asks, naturally, as though his recent offers weren't making Tom's mind feel like a vortex. 

 

Tom makes a indefinite sound in the back of his throat, turning his face to the backyard again, the sudden cold breeze feeling sharp against his cheekbones. Chris stretches his arms behind him, and leans against the wall. Tom can hear him sniffling, taking his own look around. 

 

"It's getting thicker," Chris says, and Tom turns to him inquiringly. Chris points up at the sky. "The snow," he indicates. Tom nods. 

 

They stare at each other, and Chris sniffles again. He pulls his beanie further down his ears. His nose is red, and he looks so cute, so reminiscent of his cute bear of a husband that Tom actually smiles. "I can drive you back, no problem," Chris says, looking at him expectantly. 

 

Tom darts his eyes around, fixing them on his lonely rosebush. Ammy was taking good care of it, he's glad to see. "It's not- I don't-" he fusses and shakes his head. There are tiny snowflakes on the handrail, and Tom draws a path amidst it with his finger. He sighs. "Can you help me with something?" He asks, finally, and Chris hums in assent. The face he makes, Tom can't see, because he's not looking. "I need to sort things out, but I- I wasn't expecting this." 

 

"What do you mean?" Chris sniffs again, and actually scratches his nose. Tom lingers on the handrail, but finally turns his body to face him. Chris looks warm, and Tom is so cold. 

 

"I thought," Tom begins, shuffling closer. Chris extends a hand to him, and Tom looks uncertainly at it until he wills his own fingertips to slide over Chris's knuckles, examining the skin there with the soft pads of his fingers, enveloping Chris's index finger with his whole hand. "I thought this would be easier. I wish I could just fall back into place smoothly, as though I was a last missing puzzle or something." He thinks himself cheesy for saying that, but Chris beats him with what he says next : " _You're_ my last missing puzzle." 

 

Tom looks sharply up at him, his mouth hanging open, flushing. Chris smiles embarrassedly. "That was... was corny, sorry." 

 

Tom laughs, barely resisting the pressure of Chris's finger to pull him closer. "It isn't easy," Chris supplied, amusedly, eyes darting restlessly over Tom's features: his nose, his cheeks, his eyes, _his lips_. "But I think... I think you're thinking too hard on it." 

 

"But I have to, don't I?" Tom plays with Chris's fingers. "I mean, we have to." 

 

Chris shrugs. "I like that we can have fun without looking too deeply into what we're doing. You can call me reckless," he shrugs again, looking utterly unapologetic.Tom sniggers. "I'm not going to jump you if you're sleeping next to my son, if that is what you're worried about." 

 

Tom blushes so much he actually feels dizzy. He wasn't going to make any comment regarding the fact that Chris would be sleeping perfectly by himself, Henry-less, and that Tom _could_ jump him without restraints. "That's not what I'm worried about," he laughs, and Chris pulls him physically closer, so that now Tom is standing in his personal space. Tom stands rigid, thinking perhaps Chris might indeed do something reckless like sweep him off his feet in a kiss, but all Chris does is hug him, letting Tom rest there, tuck his head on his neck, leaning on his body against the wall, their coats and scarf and beanie warming them like a cocoon. Tom breathes in his smell, and immediately understands what Chris meant with this. He feels suddenly so much calmer, as though tomorrow was just another day that would take ages to come because honestly, what was more important any more? He could simply stay here forever, plant himself on this spot, spend hours and hours doing nothing, just hugging Chris. They _didn't have_ to do anything. And Tom can feel his knees buckling with the weight of this realization. There. His answer. Chris was giving it to him. They could find comfort in each other. They could hug and laugh and have fun with Henry and flirt and bat eyelashes at each other like they were doing now without it having to mean that they were already drawing hearts around their second wedding day's date. 

 

It's simple like that. And whenever they feel they should take the next step, kiss or date or tell someone else, it'll come naturally. Perhaps they won't even notice it. 

 

Chris swings them softly, his neck vibrating where Tom's head lies below it, humming a tune. "What are you doing?" Tom asks amusedly, pressing his smile against Chris's coat. 

 

"Serenading you," Chris whispers back. Tom laughs. "This is my mermaid song, and I'm slowly drawing your boat to the shore." Tom laughs so hard he shakes. Chris kisses his forehead, and before he can help it Tom makes a soft, low appreciative sound in the back of his throat. He just feels _so_ happy, as though his heart was having a party inside his chest. 

 

Chris leans back, and gives him an eskimo kiss. Tom smiles, clicking his eyes shut and crinkling his nose. Chris squeezes him tighter for a second, and then releases him. "Can I make your bed in Henry's bedroom?" 

 

Tom licks his lips, catching Chris's eyes following the movement. He feels shy and nods repeatedly. "Yes, yes, I'll help you." 

 

~*~ 

 

Henry is lying belly-down on his bed, drowsily skimming through the pages of his Gulliver's Travels children-friendly copy when Tom and Chris arrive at his bedroom. Henry beams up at them. "Are you staying then, papa?" 

 

Tom nods, and saunters over to kiss his cheek. He gasps and pretends to be surprised when seeing the book in Henry's hands. "Gulliver's Travels, the one I gave you," he says, and Henry nods excitedly. 

 

Chris places an inflatable mattress on the floor next to Henry's bed. "You know, Tom," he says, "this young man here doesn't like when I read him stories, " he approaches to tap Henry's nose teasingly. Henry giggles. "He only likes it when _you_ read to him." 

 

"Oh," Tom turns to Henry, pleasantly surprised, his cheeks reddened. "Is that so, Henry?" 

 

Henry draws his lips in, watching Tom shyly. He is propped on his knees, hands on the bedcovers, baby blue with white bubbles drawn on it. He nods in assent, and jumps to hug Tom around the neck. "Oh, darling," Tom makes, and falls on the bed next to Henry. 

 

Chris watches with a smile, and grabs clean blankets and a pillow for Tom, along with a fluffy bedcover. He went back to his room (his and Tom's old bedroom), and selected his favorite pair of pajamas to lend Tom. When he returned to Henry's bedroom, he found Tom sitting cross-legged on the bed's edge, the book open on his lap as he read out loud. Henry was lying on the bed, his covers drawn to his chest as he watched Tom with a look of deep concentration. Chris wanted to take a picture of this scene. 

 

But Tom saw him out of the corner of his eye, and flicked his eyes to Chris, pausing on the story to present him with a smile. 

 

"Sorry," Chris murmured, giving a small step back from the threshold. 

 

"It's all right," Tom said, unfolding his legs and reaching to pet Henry's head affectionately. Henry smirked, but his eyes were drooping. Tom stood from the bed slowly, whispered something to Henry and the boy nodded. Tom kissed the boy's forehead, and closed the book, depositing it on the bedside table. 

 

"I found this-" Chris handed him the pajamas, "for you." 

 

Tom takes a look at it and smiles. "Thank you, Chris, sorry for bothering or-" 

 

Chris snorts and shakes his head, waving Tom away. "Oh, please," Chris makes a face. Tom laughs. 

 

They're silent for a moment, and Tom feels the bottom of his stomach fluttering. _The damned butterflies_ , he thinks fantastically. "Erm, right, so, I'll put this on and-" he raised the pajamas to eye-level. 

 

"Sure, sure. Uh, you know where the bathroom is, right?" 

 

"Yes," Tom laughs, "yes, I do." 

 

"Great," Chris scratches his chin. Henry is already asleep. "I'll wake you tomorrow then, if you don't mind." 

 

"No, absolutely." 

 

"And I'll leave you with the task of waking Henry up, if you don't mind that either," Chris grins. 

 

"Oh," Tom laughs. Waking Henry up was always a problem. "Does he still-" 

 

"Whine and throws himself to the floor? Yes." 

 

"Goodness," Tom sighed. "He usually doesn't mind waking up when he's with me." 

 

"That's because you only ever get him on weekends," Chris explained. There was a momentary pause. "Ok," Chris continues, "I'll go now. Good night, Tom." 

 

Chris went to hug him, and Tom went to kiss his cheek. They fumbled awkwardly, giving short, tense laughs, the top of Tom's forehead colliding with Chris's chin. They settled for a hug finally, and Tom's cheeks pinked. He watched Chris's back retreating to the hallway, entering their old bedroom. 

 

Now all he to do was go through the entire night pretending Chris wasn't lying, probably awake too, just a few doors down. 

 

~*~ 

 

Chris woke Tom up by placing a hand between his shoulder blades. "Tom?" He murmured, shaking lightly, and Tom sat bolt upright. He fell back on the mattress once seeing Chris's stupefied face. "Sorry," he said, a hand to his chest. "You scared me." 

 

Chris had obviously just showered, crouching next to Tom already in his trousers and button down. "Are you late?" Tom asked, as he sat up again, feeling ridiculous in Chris's pajamas that were huge on him, the collar sliding down his shoulder all the time. Chris seemed to like the sight of it though, and Tom quickly looked down, pretending he hadn't seen the darkening of Chris's eyes. A few years ago Tom would've teased him, perhaps would've laid back and said something dirty and waited for Chris to come suck his neck. But now Chris's gaze on him makes him hot all over the place, and he has to remember Henry is sleeping right next to them, and that there is still much more progress to be done before they can think about doing those things again, for Tom to think about ever been that sexually free with Chris again. 

 

Chris clears his throat awkwardly, getting back on his feet to peek at Henry. "Not really," he answers. He's barefoot, and the sight of his pale, long feet under the hem of his trousers makes Tom smile to himself. Chris hums, scratching a thumb down Henry's cheek and watching as their son's sleeping face scrunches up. "He's all yours," he says, widening his arms in Henry's direction. 

 

Tom laughs, his voice feeling hoarse. He's got morning breath too, and prays that Chris hadn't noticed that. But Chris says he's going downstairs to get breakfast ready and Tom hurries to wake Henry up so he can go down to help him. 

 

Five minutes later, a pouty, moody and very sleepy-looking Henry comes down the stairs. Tom follows on a slower gait, a tiny frown between his eyebrows that shows his usual cheery, good mood hadn't come out unscathed. Chris grimaces, and catches Tom's eye. "That bad?" Chris mouths, and Tom, to his surprise, smirks, and lifts his hand to press his index finger over his thumb, leaving a minimal space between them. "A little bit," he mouths back. 

 

Henry has to be lifted to the kitchen counter's stool, his arms collapsing around his head as he laid his head over it. "Is it still snowing?" He grumbles, and Tom pulls the drapes of the kitchen window aside, peering at the sky and the backyard. "Yes, but it's diminishing." 

 

Chris is making sandwiches for them, and Tom sidles up to him with a low "Let me help." The smell of brewing coffee reaches Tom's nostrils, and though he had always prefered tea, he couldn't say he didn't miss Chris's coffee. 

 

They finish the sandwiches pretty quickly, and Tom looks unsurely around. Apparently Chris has got a routine all planned out, separating his and Henry's plates and cutlery, Henry's Aladdin's glass, manoeuvring around the kitchen expertly, getting himself a mug from the cupboard, filling it with his fresh, boiling hot coffee before uttering a soft "uh" and reaching for another mug for Tom. Tom pretends he was too busy caressing the shell of Henry's ear to notice. 

 

Chris hands him his mug, and Tom smiles gratefully, "Thank you," he says, and blows on the coffee, that is wafting out a delicious smell and quite a lot of steam. Chris serves them their sandwiches, filling Henry's glass with orange juice as the boy sits upright and scratches his eyeballs with his knuckles. 

 

They eat in comfortable silence, but with every bite Henry gets less and less sleepy, and soon enough he breaks the silence to ask Chris how long was it until the holidays. 

 

"A month or so," Chris answers, chewing leisurely. 

 

"Wow," Henry says, slurping on his juice. "Do you remember when I said I wanted the bicycle? I think I changed my mind," Henry continued, and Chris, upon catching Tom's eye, lifts both his eyebrows and grins. Tom smiles softly back, and takes a bite out of his sandwich with a suddenly racing heart. "Grandpa said he and grandma can give me that anyway, but my friend Scott told me last week that he's got this new videogame-" 

 

"Henry, eat your sandwich," Chris interrupted, pointing at Henry's plate, his sandwich barely touched. 

 

"I know." Henry dismissed, "But if I had one, Scott said..." 

 

In the end, Henry was halfway into his sandwich and still in his pajamas while Chris and Tom were ready to leave. Henry asked for more juice but Chris refused as it was keeping him from actually eating, which according to Chris, was more important. "Breakfast is..." Chris said pointedly, and Henry sighed, completing with a roll of his eyes: "...the most important meal of the day." 

 

Tom smiled, resting his elbows on the counter. Henry took bite by slow bite and Chris sat opposite him, watching with his arms crossed and looking severely unimpressed. Tom bit his lip to refrain from laughing, and rose from his stool. Chris watched him, made to get up too if Tom was leaving, but Tom just gestured to the second floor. "I'm going to get Henry's clothes," he said, and Chris's face brightened, nodding in assent. 

 

Henry stared at the countertop while chewing, his feet bobbing in the air. It reminded Chris of when he was a baby and used to kick restlessly up at them. "Are you done yet?" Chris asked half-heartedly. "Almost," Henry said, and then, "you know, dad, I don't like my bread with crusts." 

 

Chris groaned, he kept forgetting that. But he took a look at Henry's sandwich. "There are no bread crusts in your sandwich." 

 

Henry smiled smugly up at him. "I know, papa took them off." 

 

Chris smiled, feeling his blood warming at the thought of Tom. Of course he would remember the tiny, special details. There's a lump in Chris's throat, a lion roaring inside his chest when he recalls Tom's face, and he's dying to see him again. He glances at his wristwatch. Why was Tom taking so long upstairs? 

 

Chris stood. "Henry, finish that," he said over his shoulder, and went to climb up the stairs. 

 

Chris was walking down the hallway, approaching Henry's bedroom, which had its door open. He was about to cross the threshold when he saw something that made him stop there. 

 

Tom was sitting cross-legged in front of Henry's wardrobe. In front of him, the last drawer was open, and Tom was staring tearfully at what he held in his hands. Chris knew what he kept in there: Henry's old baby clothes, his bibs and overalls, mittens and nursing bottles, soothers and silken socks. He recognized the one Tom was holding in his hands, the giraffe onesie. It was fit for a new-born baby, but Henry had always been so tiny that it fit him perfectly. Chris remembers his coos and his kicking feet just by looking at it. He leans against the doorframe, and stares at the scene ahead of him with a fondness that consumes his brain. How could he love so much? 

 

Tom saw him, but didn't look surprised nor shocked. He turned his head to Chris and when their eyes met they knew they were thinking the same thing, revisiting the same memories. 

 

There's a sniffle, and Tom smiles, drying his cheek with the back of his sleeve. "I didn't know you still had these," he said, going back to his examination of Henry's once-onesie. 

 

"I could never throw them away." 

 

Tom fingers the cloth with his glinting eyes and gulps before continuing. "I thought you had donated them to the children at the hospital." Chris shakes his head, but Tom isn't looking at him, he's just lifting the onesie to the light to get a better look. "How can it be that he was once _this_ tiny? I mean, it's impossible, isn't it?" 

 

Chris laughs softly, "You'd think it is. That was only five years ago and now we would need at least twelve of these to dress him." 

 

Tom laughs, and squeezes the onesie tighter, dipping to breathe it in. "It smells like him too. Like baby-Henry," Tom closes his eyes, "I wish he was a baby again, just so I could- you know?" Tom trails off, and Chris can't blame him: there are no words for this, but he knows exactly what Tom means. 

 

"Yeah, I know." 

 

Tom opens his eyes and stares directly at him. He smiles, and folds the onesie carefully back into its place, trailing gentle fingertips over the top of the drawer's contents. 

 

Chris clears his throat. "You know, we're not-" 

 

"Dad? Papa?" Henry shouts from the first floor, and disrupts Tom, who seems to wake from a trance and slides the drawer gently shut. Chris offers him a hand for support as he gets back to his feet. "Thanks," he whispers, but goes straight for the door. 

 

Chris bites his bottom lip and follows quietly. 

 

~*~ 

 

"It's cooo-old," Henry whines from the backseat, watching the mounts of snow from his window, covering the sidewalks and roofs, painting it white. 

 

"Well, it's winter," Chris supplies, and just because he can, increases the heater back to Henry. Tom is still staring out into the windshield. 

 

"Yeah, but it-" Henry cuts himself short, waving excitedly as he seems to remember something. "We have to do snowball fighting with uncle Liam, he made me promise, no, I made him promise we would, please, dad?" 

 

"We'll see," Chris turns a left, Henry's school getting closer and closer until they come to a smooth stop in front of it. Chris goes to help Henry out and Tom exits as well, hugging Henry clumsily as Chris tries to help him into his backpack. Tom was talking to Henry quietly and Chris took a few steps back to allow them some privacy, patting some snow with his foot and pretending to examine the windshield. 

 

"I loved it," he heard Henry murmuring to Tom, and smiled despite of himself. Tom bent to kiss Henry's cheek and hug him again, and released the boy so he could go and tackle Chris's legs. 

 

"Can you get papa to come spend more time with us?" Henry asked him, and Chris was left speechless. This was the first time Henry acknowledged the fact that Tom had been spending more time with them, that they were spending more time _together_ , since Emma had insisted they should talk. Chris had never felt such a slap to the face (with the exception of Tom asking for the divorce): his son, his child, was feeling something different between them. Henry had had to go through their divorce and though Chris knew that children were attuned to their parents' relationship this was one of the times when he had to face what was actually happening in their lives, and hope that Henry didn't feel responsible for any of it. 

 

"I'll try," he says in response, pulling Henry's coat's sides closer and wrapping his scarf tighter. "Now go, you're late," he taps Henry's shoulder and watches as he makes his way inside, waving over his shoulder as he meets his group of friends that are farther up ahead. 

 

They get back inside the car and Chris makes the way to Tom's house. It's silent for a while until Tom scratches his neck and says: "Sorry for making you late." 

 

Chris laughs. "It wasn't your fault, it was Henry's, and this happens all the time, so..." 

 

Tom looks less preoccupied, and shakes his head lightly. "I folded the blankets," Chris frowns, and Tom continues, "from my bed, that is, well, I folded them, and your pajamas too. I left them on your bed." 

 

So Tom had been to their bedroom. How did he react? Did he look at it parsimoniously or did he linger to trail his fingers over Chris's stuff like he had done to Henry's old clothes? Did he miss it? _Doesn't matter_ , Chris thinks. He only wishes Tom had stayed long enough to leave his smell behind, so that the room could bottle it up and he could feel it when he got home. 

 

"You didn't have to," Chris says, because that's the polite thing to say and because Tom really didn't have to. Chris would take care of everything Tom had left behind with the utmost pleasure. 

 

"I know they are your favorite pajamas." Tom said hastily, as though afraid that if he took longer he wouldn't say it at all. Indeed, he gulped and looked a little desperately at the windshield. 

 

Chris refrained from taking his eyes off the road for too long. He just wanted to stop the car and kiss Tom so fiercely that he would never forget how it felt like. He thinks about something to say that isn't about to sound desperate or desperately corny, but he fails all the same. "I hope it kept you warm," he means every word. 

 

Tom turns to look at him, and with a slow grin, flushes. "It did." 

 

Chris finally stops in front of his house, and Tom turns to look at it as though he had only just noticed it was standing there. "I hope-" Chris begins, but Tom cuts him: "I had a wonderful time. Really." 

 

Chris smiles broadly. "I'm happy to know that." 

 

Tom nods repeatedly, and reached to unbuckle his seatbelt. "Thanks for the lift and for letting me stay." 

 

Chris rolls his eyes. "Tom, I don't even need to tell you, do I?" 

 

Tom laughs shortly, and eyes him for a while, chewing on his bottom lip. Chris loves him like that, effortlessly sexy, looking at him with that roguish thoughtfulness. "I _am_ very grateful. I'm making you late and I borrowed your stuff and I ate your food." 

 

"Tom, please," Chris rolls his eyes so hard he thinks he sees the inside of his brain for a second. 

 

Tom, of all the things, laughs. "I'm just saying that nothing would make me happier than extending you the same pleasure," Chris pauses, turns to look at him. "I mean it. Whenever you and Henry could make it." 

 

 _Do I_ have _to take Henry as well?_ Chris thinks, rather shamefully. He can already formulate some plans in the back of his head. Elsa _did_ say she was free on Friday nights, rather emphatically. She probably thought it'd serve another purpose but well... 

 

"I have to go now, so sorry for making you late," Tom babbles, "Bye," he pulls Chris's face to kiss his cheek, and Chris widens his arms to hug him. Tom's forehead collides with Chris's chin again, and halfway into it Chris decides he'd rather kiss Tom's cheek and Tom seems to decide he'd rather hug him. Chris's forehead knocks against Tom's chin, and they give awkward little laughs. 

 

"I'll talk to you," Chris says, surprised with the firmness of his own voice, holding Tom's hand in his in a steady grip, preventing Tom from hopping off the car completely. 

 

"Ok, we'll talk," Tom nods, and waves once before closing the door. Chris watches him make his way to the front door, getting his keys and fitting it in the lock. Tom turns to wave goodbye again, and Chris almost collides with the windshield in his haste to wave back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!! Please, leave me a tearstained comment!

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, I don't know why I do these things.


End file.
